


Bad Judgment Redux

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Do I need to warn for het?, Episode: s01e09 Bad Judgment, F/M, M/M, Man Pain, Peter and El are married after all, Smut, Some violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple mortgage fraud case uncovers intrigue that brings Agent Fowler back into their midst and puts Peter's job in jeopardy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Judgment Redux - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: This is Bad Judgment plus, which means that there are direct quotes and scenes from the episode. Allusions to all Season 1 eps and to my other fics.
> 
> Warnings: Pr0n is par for the course here; if you’ve read my other fics, you’re likely aware of this. :-D Some angst, but not as much as last time. There's Peter/El het in the last chapter, in case that might bother anybody.
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/)**dawnie_faith**. My undying gratitude to [](http://wornoutbirks.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wornoutbirks.livejournal.com/)**wornoutbirks** for her help with Part Five. Comments = Love. ♥
> 
> Music: [Raise the Hammer – ICON](http://www.inland.net/~evcarter/rth.html)  
> [It’s Not Over ‘Til It’s Over – Starship](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Starship:It%27s_Not_Over_\(Til_It%27s_Over\))  
> [Is It A Crime – Sade](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Sade:Is_It_A_Crime)  
> [Love Thieves – Depeche Mode](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Depeche_Mode:The_Love_Thieves)

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  


~ooooOOOoooo~

 

“Do you have to do that?” Peter asked softly when the doors of the elevator closed and they were alone.

“Do what?” Neal’s voice was low and teasing, his fingers flickering out to brush the sensitive underside of Peter’s wrist.

“ _That_ ,” Peter said, his voice shaking. “Especially when we’re _not_ alone.”

“I can’t help it, Peter,” Neal murmured, his voice dropping into the bedroom whisper that only Peter ever heard. “You’re irresistible.”

Peter’s breath hitched. “Try, would you? There are cameras in these elevators and other agents who could get on.”

“We should pretend even when we’re alone?”

The hurt look in Neal’s eyes belied the dancing smile on his face. Peter’s fingers brushed Neal’s as the elevator slowed. “There’s only one place we’re alone, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.” Peter’s smile was consoling.

The doors opened. Instantly, Neal went into confidence mode, mask firmly in place. “Good weekend?” he asked brightly, as if they hadn’t had time for small talk until that moment.

“Great!” Peter replied with well-faked sincerity. “New York won four-three in double overtime. How was the Guggenheim?”

“Excellent! Saw a rumination on the physicality of space and the nature of sculpture.”

 _Show off…_ “Glad I missed it,” Peter said, a smile tugging on his face.

In reality, the weekend had been spent together. Elizabeth had gone out of town again, and she’d suggested that Peter spend the time with Neal rather than rattle around the house by himself. Since both of the Burkes’ careers had unpredictable hours, they had a dog-sitter on call to take care of Satchmo, and Peter found himself unable and unwilling to turn the idea down.

Neal had been more than a little surprised when Peter had arrived on his doorstep in the middle of a Saturday with a bottle of wine, a selection of fresh berries and a new bottle of lubricant to try out. The mischievous smile that played on those sensual lips had sent riotous thrills over Neal’s skin, and both men had happily spent most of the weekend in various states of undress.

Flashes of memory danced in Neal’s mind as well, and Neal grinned back knowingly. “Back at ya.” _A weekend spent with a passionate lover is way better than the Guggenheim…_

Jones came up to them, reluctant to interrupt the good mood that Peter and Neal were in. It hadn’t escaped Jones’ notice that his team leader and their convict/consultant were close… and Jones thought he knew why. It was Peter’s business, and his partnership with Neal was closing cases, no matter how deeply it went. “David Sullivan. He’s waiting for you in the conference room.”

Peter felt his good mood evaporate. He hated meetings like this. “Eh! Perfect,” he groused.

“What’s wrong?” Neal knew that he wasn’t brought up to speed on all of Peter’s cases unless Peter needed him to be, but anything that banked the fire in those russet eyes instantly concerned him. He glanced back at the conference room. An ordinary man sat in profile: average build, a little overweight, plain features. A picture-perfect little girl sat beside him, her nose a button and her smile innocent as she colored on something beside her father.

“He’s been calling all week about a mortgage fraud case,” Peter explained, the words tasting sour. “It’s a pretty cut-and-dried foreclosure. I don’t know what else we can do for him.

“He brought his little girl,” Jones supplied somberly.

“Aw, geez!” Peter almost visibly winced. He was awkward with children: couldn’t connect with the whimsy they always displayed. He knew he’d possessed it himself at one time, but somehow he couldn’t quite summon it back up when he needed to deal with a child.

He also loved children. Peter firmly believed that no child should ever have to worry about whether or not their parents could keep a roof over their heads or food on the table. They should never have to overhear their parents worrying about money; especially shouldn’t have to overhear that their parents had been cheated out of their money. Children always managed to hear those conversations. “He’s playing the sympathy card,” Peter muttered resentfully.

“Is it working?” Neal asked mildly. He’d have been surprised if it weren’t. Peter had a much more tender heart than he was given credit for.

“Yup.” Peter took a deep breath, steeling himself, and accepted the file from Jones. “Thanks.” Another deep breath as Jones stepped away and Peter faced Neal. “Well, let’s go talk to him.”

Neal blinked. If there was no apparent crime, why would his presence matter? “Why do you need me for this?” Peter looked at him, mouth compressed in an uncomfortable line, and Neal fought not to roll his eyes. “You’re uncomfortable around the six-year-old.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t speak that language,” Peter defended softly.

“I do?” Neal looked almost affronted.

Peter almost reminded him of the sharp contrast between Bai’s reaction to each of them when they’d set up the surveillance base for the pai gow tables. “Yeah, you do, Peter Pan. Come on.”

Fighting down the urge to swat Peter for that reference, Neal followed. _He’s probably been dying for an excuse to call me that since he found me re-reading the original Barrie novel Saturday morning._

Peter entered first, hoping they could deal with this quickly… and without tears from the little girl. “Mr. Sullivan,” he greeted almost brusquely as the man stood. “And this must be…?”

“Allison,” the other man supplied, placing a gentle hand on his daughter’s back.

The little girl looked up and smiled sweetly; desperately, Peter focused on the paper she was drawing on. “That’s a 5-1-5 form,” he murmured, feeling a little panicky. “Not a coloring book.” _Why would a rational adult allow his daughter to draw on an official government document? He couldn’t bring a pad or book to go with the markers?_

“I’m sure the Bureau will get by without it,” Neal cut in. There was an almost stern note to his voice, trying to sharply remind Peter that there were more important things to worry about here. He then smiled and winked at Allison. “Encourage that artistic ability,” he urged. His own artistic abilities had been fostered as a child, and now he could reproduce some of the best and most famous artwork in the world. _Whether that talent gets me into trouble or not, at least I can do it._

Grateful to Neal for keeping him from making a mistake that would result in crying, Peter straightened and addressed the girl’s father. Adults, he could handle. “What’s going on, Mr. Sullivan?”

“The bank forecloses on our home in a week.” Neal could hear the frustration, and the desperation, in the man’s voice… could see it in the lines of his body. This was a man who was grasping for a life line: someone that it would be easy for anyone in Neal’s profession to exploit.

"Mr. Sullivan’s father recently passed,” Peter explained to Neal.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” _Even worse…_ Neal thought, keeping his expression carefully masked. _Grieving and desperate._

“He left them his home…” Peter continued slowly, “and before his death, he took out a second mortgage on it.”

“He didn’t take out a second mortgage!” Sullivan cut in. Neal watched the emotional shifts in this man with almost clinical detachment. This was definitely the reaction of a man who had been fleeced… the question was by whom, and whether or not the fleecing had been legal. “He would never do that. Someone cheated us.”

“I looked at your case, Mr. Sullivan,” Peter replied calmly. He genuinely felt sympathy for the man, but there wasn’t much he could do with blind conviction and no real evidence. “I’m sorry, but things like this happen.”

“Was your father in debt?” Neal wanted more… something about the man’s conviction was nagging at Neal’s gut. Even if Peter was sure, Neal wasn’t yet.

“He wasn’t in debt,” Sullivan insisted. “I know him.”

“Do you?” Peter challenged, finally beginning to play his own hand. Neal focused on the man across the table, only catching Peter in his peripheral view. David Sullivan was not a man who could hide his emotions, at least not now, and Neal was reading every line on the man’s face. Something wasn’t right. “Last three years of his life,” Peter continued, tossing the file on the table, “he was in an extended care center. You only visited four times.” Both he and Neal saw the guilt fall across Sullivan’s features at the gentle reproach in Peter’s tone. “I told you: I looked at your case.”

“Look,” Sullivan admitted, “my dad was a hard man. Near the end of his life, he wanted to get to know his granddaughter. She got us past our differences. He wanted to give her a home to grow up in; that’s how I know my father wouldn’t take out a second mortgage to play blackjack, okay?”

Neal gazed at the little girl, who probably understood far more of what was being said than anyone might think, a small smile on his face. He loved children, wanted them… eventually. He envied Peter a beautiful wife and stable home that would be perfect for children… to teach them how to draw and paint and sculpt and mold clay… to host birthday parties and do magic tricks and tell scary stories during sleepovers… David Sullivan wanted a home like that for his daughter. Thought he’d gotten it from a father he hadn’t been close to before. _No wonder he’s so insistent… he’s fighting to believe that his father might have cared for once and for a legacy for his daughter._

Peter could almost read Neal’s thoughts, knowing that the younger man was being swayed by the passion Sullivan displayed. Hard facts weren’t on their side, and he didn’t want Neal to be disappointed when it turned out that they really couldn’t help. It was hard enough for Peter himself to say no.

“You’re our last chance,” Sullivan urged.

Neal couldn’t stop himself from looking at Peter, silently willing him to take the case. Neal wanted to help this man… to prove that the father he’d finally found common ground with really hadn’t left them nothing but debt and broken dreams… Peter said nothing, fighting with himself. He felt the weight of Neal’s gaze on his heart, already heavy from knowing he should say no…

Allison finished her drawing and lifted the 5-1-5 form, turning it in her tiny hand and holding it out to Peter. A child’s caricature of a person, with no proportion to the features, smiled up at Peter with green-and-black eyes and a ‘where’s Waldo’-esque shirt, with ‘Agent Burke’ scrawled underneath, each letter a different color. “That’s you,” she told Peter in her light, piping voice.

The drawing had none of the finesse or elegance that Neal usually sought in artwork, but he suddenly wanted to take it home, frame it, and hang it on his wall. He’d never seen Peter Burke disarmed so completely as he was in the moment he took that ruined bureaucratic form and gazed at a child’s rendering of his crooked, uncertain smile.

A smile that Neal always wanted to kiss at the corners.

Peter sighed and flashed a smile at the little girl, who smiled back almost in self-satisfaction. He then looked up at the expectant David Sullivan. “We’ll look into it,” he conceded before warning: “No promises!” _No wonder Neal understands children,_ he mentally groused as he looked back at the smiling Allison. _They’re as devious as he is. And I fall for his tricks all the time, too._

* * *

Settled in Peter’s office with the Sullivan case file, Neal began to understand the misgivings Peter had about the case. _Maybe I shouldn’t have given him the look… there’s not much to go on…_ “It’s pretty cut-and-dried,” Neal agreed, echoing Peter’s description from earlier as Peter came in and slapped his foot. Neal dropped his feet off Peter’s table and sat up to let him pass. “Bank has paperwork signed and notarized.” Closing the file, Neal dropped it on the table in front of him and looked almost apologetically at his lover. “I can see why you didn’t want to take this on.”

Peter heard the apology in Neal’s voice, but this wasn’t one of the things he felt Neal should apologize for. “Maybe I’m glad I changed my mind,” he said thoughtfully as he sat, letting Neal off the hook.

“You find something?” Neal was again surprised. Peter’s investigative talents were a constant surprise to him… along with other areas of expertise.

“Tried to call the NYPD detective Sullivan spoke to originally.”

“And?”

“Turns out, he’s retired.”

Neal was confused. He knew most law enforcement agents loved their jobs, but all of them had to retire eventually. “So?”

“How many detectives you know retire at 35?”

“It’s worth looking into,” Neal agreed softly. “Think we should ask him for coffee?”

“I never say no to coffee,” Peter replied, his face perfectly straight.

Neal’s lips turned up for a broad, flirtatious smile. “I’ll remember that,” he murmured, his eyes sparkling with promise.

Peter’s eyes widened just a fraction, and Neal could see a faint blush creep up his neck. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Point of a double-entendre is to mean two things at once,” Neal teased, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would it help if I invested in coffee-flavored-”

“Neal!”

The warning in Peter’s voice was almost comical. Neal laughed, delighted, and leaned back in his chair. “Call him… I’ll even go in the conference room and look over paperwork. Wouldn’t want to distract you.” Without waiting for an answer, Neal stood and almost sashayed out of Peter’s office.

It took Peter a full ten minutes to calm the urge to go after Neal, drag him back into the elevator, hit the emergency stop and the cameras be damned.

* * *

Detective Herrera was working for a private security firm now, and wasn’t available to meet until after his shift. Mercifully, Neal didn’t actively try to seduce Peter during business hours and lunch was spent at the office poring over the detective’s case file on the Sullivan foreclosure.

Desire still rode the edge of Peter’s nerves all day long, and little things Neal did would set off a fresh wave of need: the way Neal’s tongue would peek though his lips before he drank something. The long expanse of his slender neck as he stretched that begged for Peter’s mouth to latch on and suck hard. The way his nimble fingers absently would spin a pen across them like twirling a baton when he was thinking, never missing a step. At least if Neal were actively trying to seduce Peter, Peter could find ways to resist him.

Resisting the charms of Neal Caffrey was much harder when Neal wasn’t trying at all.

Evening came before Peter had a chance to suggest they leave early to have a few minutes alone. Neal didn’t seem remotely fazed by the diner that was the designated meeting place. “Figured a place like this would have you turning your nose up,” Peter remarked dryly.

“You’d be surprised the kinds of places I’m willing to go,” Neal retorted calmly. A brilliant smile had the waitress at their table in a heartbeat, and two cups of hot coffee on their way. “Besides, we’re here for a meeting, not a date.”

Peter blinked. He’d never once considered the idea of _dating_ Neal Caffrey. They just sort of… fell into bed together at every opportunity and stayed there as long as possible. “Do you… want to go…”

A low chuckle, and then Neal gave Peter a look that was pure sensuality. “We definitely shouldn’t discuss that here, Peter. Besides, that’s Herrera now.”

Mentally shaking himself, Peter turned as the retired officer came through the door. He looked guarded, like a man who was used to being followed by those with unsavory agendas. “Mr. Herrera, thanks for coming.” Peter gestured at the empty seat across the table as Herrera approached. “I’m Agent Burke.”

Herrera stopped, measured Neal up at a glance, and asked, “Who’s this?”

“I’m… with the FBI,” Neal replied cautiously. Herrera wouldn’t take his eyes off Neal, and hadn’t sat down yet.

“Um… no,” Herrera rejected as he finally did sit, glancing at Peter. “He’s with the FBI; fed couldn’t afford those cufflinks.”

“For a retired detective, you don’t seem out of practice,” Peter complimented, hoping to ease Herrera’s wary caution. They needed anything Herrera might tell them, but the man was already on edge.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Herrera’s gaze was level; Peter gave a soft chuckle. “He’s my consultant.” _And my lover… and my partner… and adorably high-maintenance… focus, Burke!_ “We’re investigating the Sullivan case.”

“Really?” Herrera’s expression became, if possible, more guarded. “Why?”

The bluntness of the question caused Peter to skip a beat, his eyebrows darting up in surprise. Neal covered the hesitation. “Mr. Sullivan has a daughter and Peter’s a sucker for kids.” _He is, too; uncomfortable around them, but loves them… he’d make a good father…_

“You know: you cleared over 90% of your cases,” Peter continued, glad for Neal’s quick response to his surprise and gazing narrow-eyed at Herrera. “If you don’t mind me asking: what made you all of a sudden turn in your resignation?”

“Well, I…” The pause was too long, betraying that the ex-cop was thinking on his feet about how best to respond… and not with the truth. The smile Herrera pasted on was too forced by half. “I got tired of the grind.” Peter just looked at him, his expression clearly disbelieving; Neal’s examination of the man was more subtle, but he was reading cues in Herrera’s body language that fairly shouted that they were being lied to. Herrera’s smile dropped under their scrutiny. “Look, I, uh… I swung an early pension, okay? I don’t know if you’re recording this conversation but I don’t have anything to say. I appreciate the coffee.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Peter held up a calming hand as Herrera stood to leave. “You burned your career for this case; you’re just gonna walk away?”

“Like I said: I got nothing to say.” Herrera almost looked apologetic, his hands on his hips. “Sullivan’s a dud. Let it go. Thanks for the coffee.”

As he turned to walk away, Neal watched with sharp eyes, silently willing Peter to be still. Herrera wanted to talk to them. Someone or something was forcing him to keep silent… either through intimidation or fear of retaliation… Neal kept still, waiting… Herrera wasn’t going to leave yet…

He was proven right a moment later as Herrera turned and came back to the table. “You know what? Let me leave a tip.”

“No, I got it,” Peter replied automatically, reaching for his wallet.

“I insist.” Herrera’s black eyes were sharp, communicating volumes. Peter stilled and met that gaze, noting the emphasis the detective placed on his words. “It’s the least I can do.” Both Peter and Neal watched as Herrera quickly counted out four singles and a pile of change, slapping it down on the table. Meeting each of their eyes with an expression of guarded hope, Herrera turned and walked out of the diner.

“That was cryptic,” Neal commented, glancing at the tip and brushing his fingers over it. “Four dollars and seventy-six cents.”

“For three cups of coffee.” _Almost more than the coffee costs…_

Neal leaned in towards Peter, eyes bright. “Pretty generous for a retired cop’s salary.”

“Very generous,” Peter agreed, enjoying the way Neal’s body automatically leaned closer to his own. “And very specific.”

“The tip’s a message,” Neal concluded softly, almost to himself. “Something in his files that he wants us to pay attention to?”

“Probably. Let’s get back to the office.” Peter pulled out his wallet and left enough for their coffee with Herrera’s tip before escorting Neal to the car. “Coming to dinner tonight? I told El it’d be late, but…”

“Can’t,” Neal replied carefully. “I’ve got someone to meet with tonight.”

“Haversham?” Peter asked. “Or Kate?”

Neal stiffened as Peter started the car. “I’m not meeting with Kate. I don’t even know how to contact her. She’s always passed messages to me; she won’t tell me where she is.”

Silence seemed like the prudent response to that. Peter drove back to the Bureau without further comment, pondering Neal’s devotion to Kate despite her complete lack of reciprocity. _If it were me… I’d want Neal with me, or at least try to connect with him once in a while. It’s not like Kate couldn’t come to June’s…_

 _Now that’s a horrible thought… Kate in Neal’s suite… touching him on our couch… seducing him in our bed…_ Neal’s hand slipped into Peter’s, and the images evaporated. Neal was here, and Kate was a ghost in the wind, and Peter didn’t have to worry about her invading his territory… at least not yet. Squeezing Neal’s hand, Peter gave him a gentle smile.

“What’s wrong?” Neal asked carefully. He’d seen the dark anger settling over Peter’s features; anger that was utterly incongruous given what had just happened at the diner. _Shadows… Peter’s job leaves so many shadows…_

“I’m okay,” Peter assured him softly. “Just thinking too much. Let’s finish up tonight and then I’ll take you home to meet Haversham. Dinner tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Neal hedged. “We’re waiting for information about the music box from some sources Moz has. If it comes through, we’ll be poring over that for credible intel.”

“You’re gonna keep me in the loop?”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Yes, Peter: I will keep you in the loop. If we find something worth tracking down, I’ll tell you about it as soon as I know it’s for real.”

Pulling into his parking space at the Bureau, Peter nodded his acceptance. “Good.”

His hand was still warm from Neal’s grip as they took the elevator up to the WCCU bullpen. Neal behaved himself on this ride, which somehow only managed to make Peter itch for his touch. _El’s going to send Neal a fruit basket after tonight… she’s the one that’s going to reap the benefits of the state he’s kept me in all day…_

Upstairs in the conference room again, Peter and Neal began sifting through Herrera’s files again, looking for anything that might be associated with Herrera’s tip. “476,” Neal mused. “Could be an area code.”

“Not in America,” Peter refuted almost absently.

 _Peter… you surprise me again… how did I ever actually doubt you could catch me?_ “Badge number?” Neal suggested.

“I don’t think so.” Peter could feel something nagging at the edge of his thoughts… something about the number that he should be picking up on… he shuffled the paperwork and picked up another file… the answer was here…

“For a dud case, Herrera generated a lot of paperwork.”

“Yeah, he did.” Peter barely noticed what Neal was saying. He was focused on the numbers… his eye caught the grouping on a court document and he was instantly focused. “Wait… what have we got here?” He scanned the context surrounding the numbers and almost kicked himself, slapping the paper with his free hand instead. “476.”

Neal abandoned his own file. “What is it?”

“It’s an ID number for a federal district judge,” Peter explained almost ruefully, handing the court filing to Neal. _I should have thought of that._ “They stamp these on the files for every case they preside over.”

Scanning the page himself, Neal tried to remember where he’d seen the judge’s name before. “Judge Michelle Clark,” he murmured. _It sounds so familiar…_

“Do you know her?” Peter asked. _If we could only have that kind of luck…_

“No.” Neal looked back up at Peter, feeling like the pieces of the puzzle were starting to click into place. Something about Sullivan’s foreclosure was dirty, and there was a federal judge at the heart of it. “Herrera said he was leaving a tip.”

“Maybe her Honor’s not so honorable,” Peter agreed, already having drawn the same conclusion as Neal.

“Look, one cop already lost his job over this,” Neal cautioned. “You sure you wanna go down this road?”

Peter looked down at Allison Sullivan’s drawing, still sitting amongst the papers on the conference room table. “Yeah, I do.”

Neal tapped Peter’s shoulder with the papers in his hand. “You’re a good man, Peter Burke.”

“So my wife keeps telling me.” Peter gave a rueful smile. “Hope she still feels that way if doing this turns out to be the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Then go home and sweep her off her feet,” Neal urged with a playful grin. “Give her a taste of what life would be like if you’re home all the time.”

Giving Neal a scowl of mock-indignation, Peter started packing up the paperwork to store for the night. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m almost sure I already knew that.”


	2. Bad Judgment Redux - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Mozzie was already there when Neal arrived, probably having been let in by June or Maria. They knew Moz was a regular guest of Neal’s, and Neal had warned Moz to behave himself as if there were FBI agents behind him every minute when he was in June’s house. Neal wasn’t about to risk his _very_ comfortable situation on Mozzie’s impulses. “Hey… find anything on Judge Clark?”

“As your legal counsel,” Mozzie quipped, placing open file folders in front of Neal’s seat at the table, “I advise you to peruse the following exhibits.”

“Okay… court orders… search warrants…” Neal’s eyebrows knitted as he read over the pertinent captions on the documents. “This is everything Fowler used when he arrested me for the diamond heist.”

“Check out the fine print.” Mozzie gestured at the signature lines. Judge Clark’s penmanship stared back at Neal, inarguably the same as on the court documents in the Sullivan file. “She was Fowler’s go-to judge when he was investigating you.”

 _Fowler again? What are you up to now?_ “What’s her name doing on search warrants? Peter and I are working a mortgage fraud scam.”

“Warrants which, if they’d been reviewed by an impartial judge, may have been thrown out,” Moz pointed out almost gleefully.

“So Fowler’s got a judge in his pocket. That’s handy.” Neal’s smile was predatory, his eyes gleaming. _Gotcha, you sonuvabitch… let’s see how easy it is for you to keep a grip on Kate when you don’t have a judicial rubber-stamp on anything you want._ “Peter’s gonna love this.”

“Have I taught you nothing?”

Neal paused in gathering up the paperwork at the reproach in Mozzie’s tone. “Fowler’s got Kate,” he reminded his oldest friend acidly. “If his pet judge is dirty, I can use it against him.”

“Right: you tell the suit, he files a report and Fowler sees you coming. Secrets are safer.” Mozzie was being reasonable. He was being practical. Neal knew it and hated him for it in that moment, shoving away from the table and taking a few steps back. He didn’t want to be practical or reasonable. He wanted to bury Fowler before Fowler could do any more harm to him or Kate… or Peter… “And when you say Fowler’s ‘got’ Kate,” Moz continued.

“He _does_ ,” Neal insisted, cutting that train of thought off. _I’ve already been down this road with Peter… Mozzie knows her better than Peter; he can’t be doubting her, too…_

“What does the suit think?” Moz countered. When Neal turned away, not answering, Mozzie knew exactly what Neal didn’t want to say. He’d known the young, brilliant con for longer than the suit had, and probably about as well. “Your keeper and I actually agree on something,” he said gently, rising from the table and following Neal across the room. “What if she’s working _with_ Fowler?”

“Look, I need to talk to her,” Neal hedged. He didn’t want to believe it; knew that if he could just talk to Kate, all the doubt would be banished by the love in her eyes… it didn’t matter that when they’d talked on the phone at Grand Central, something in her voice had set off his internal alarms. It didn’t matter that Peter Burke, who knew how to read people almost as well as Neal himself, didn’t see love for Neal when he looked at Kate. He couldn’t have been this much of a fool… “Then I’ll know.”

Moz considered his protégé for a moment. Neal was being stubborn… didn’t want to believe the truth that was staring everyone around him in the face… Moz had heard the same thing that Neal had in her voice that day at Grand Central, and he wasn’t so blinded by love that he wouldn’t accept what it really meant. _It’s going to kill Neal when he realizes the truth… I just hope his FBI pal can keep him from doing something stupid if I’m not with him when it hits…_ “Do you trust your FBI buddy?” Moz suddenly asked.

“Yeah, I trust him.” The answer was too quick, too confident. The ring on the chain around his neck shifted against his heart, reminding him of Peter’s promise… of the promise he’d made in return… “Until I can’t,” he finished with a quaver, hoping Moz wouldn’t notice that part was a complete lie.

“Vague, in a zen kind of way.” Moz knew in that instant that there was something Neal wasn’t telling him… something about Peter that Neal didn’t want him to know. “Look: he met with Kate. He must know how to get a hold of her. Do you trust him enough to deliver a message?”

_I trust him with my life… my body… my heart, even if he doesn’t know it… I can trust him to contact Kate for me… but would he deliver a message not colored by the fact that he wants her to let me go? Can I trust him with that?_

_“…you can trust me, even when it looks like you can’t.”_

“Yeah,” Neal replied slowly, smiling almost to himself. “I do.” Before Moz could examine that too carefully, Neal gestured at the table. “Let me grab dinner, and we’ll go over the rest of what you found on Judge Clark.”

* * *

Tuesday morning was all business. Neal was feeling the shadows gathering again, that sense of foreboding right before a con went bad. The urge to tell Peter what he knew about Fowler’s connection to Judge Clark almost overpowering. Peter wasn’t being his usual observant self, probably because he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts about the case. _He gets distracted sometimes… doesn’t see what I’m thinking or feeling because whatever he’s investigating has him up in his head… I need to remember that. It’s not that he doesn’t care… it’s not that he doesn’t notice me… it’s the way his mind works…_

“Her Honor Judge Clark,” Peter said, tossing the photo across the desk to Neal. “How does this nice face get a detective to take an early pension?”

“She must have a lot of pull,” Neal replied vaguely. _I need to tell you how much… Mozzie’s wrong… I need to warn you before it’s too late…_

“Clark deals primarily in probate law,” Peter continued. “Her last case was…?”

“The Sullivan house.” Neal felt that foreboding tug at his gut as he took a file from Peter.

“Look at these: nine properties over the past two years taken by various banks. She presided over all of them.” Peter’s phone rang; the caller ID showed Elizabeth’s number and he picked up immediately. “Hey, hon.”

_“Hey… how would you like to come home for lunch?”_

The invitation was surprising; usually Elizabeth met him in Manhattan if she wanted to see him at lunch during the week. “I’d like that a lot.”

_“Good! I’m trying out a new caterer for an upcoming event. I would love your opinion on the food.”_

_Elizabeth never wants my opinion on food. Not when it comes to her events._ “Oh? What’s the menu?”

_“Well, uh… samplings of pâté, couscous… a lot of fancy stuff._

Peter felt his stomach roll over. He _hated_ pretentious food. “You know how much I love… stuff.”

_“And feel free to… bring Neal.”_

_Ah, ha! The other shoe drops._ “Oh… that’s why you’re calling. You want to borrow him.”

_“I want to borrow his palate; and yours as well.”_

Peter held the phone away from his mouth and looked at Neal, who had been watching the entire conversation. “My wife’s inviting you to lunch,” he informed Neal, sarcasm lacing every word. “Good thing is: I get to come along, too.”

The reminder of his last lunch with Elizabeth and everything that had happened because of it had Neal studiously hiding his blush behind the files Peter had given him on Judge Clark. Peter had to fight not to laugh out loud.

 _“Be nice, Peter,_ Elizabeth scolded, having heard every word. _Neal was just trying to be honest with me._

“I know, honey.” Peter’s voice was warm, remembering how good it had felt to know that Neal had even wanted to do that… Neal was always trying to protect his marriage to Elizabeth, even before they’d started sleeping together. “We’ve got a few things to finish up here, and then we’ll be on our way.”

_“I’ll see you both soon then. Love you.”_

“Love you, too.” As he hung up the phone, Peter glanced at Neal, who was still looking somewhat guilty behind the paperwork. “Oh, stop it. I was only teasing.”

Wide blue eyes blinked up at him. “You don’t really mind about that lunch, do you?”

For a moment, all Peter could see in his mind’s eye was reaching across that desk and drawing Neal up for a long, passionate kiss that would remove all doubts Neal might have about how Peter felt… the urge to brush tiny, reassuring kisses over those defenseless blue eyes almost overpowering… “Never think so,” Peter replied, his voice dropping to rough velvet and his russet eyes flaring to life.

A shiver ran through Neal as that heat washed over him. Peter inflamed was a powerful aphrodisiac, and the man didn’t even have to touch him… shaking himself, Neal was surprised to find that his mouth was open and his breath was coming in quiet, shallow pants and Peter was just standing there with that smile on his face… the smile that made Neal positively weak… “Work?” he reminded Peter, his voice quavering just slightly.

“Work,” Peter replied, his voice far steadier. “Play comes later.”

That promise had Neal carrying his coat in front of his hips as the pair made their way out of the office an hour later. Fortunately for Neal’s sanity, there were several agents leaving for lunch pick-ups at the same time, so there was no opportunity for Peter to tease him verbally. Peter’s presence was enough… and the way Peter took the opportunity presented by the jam-packed elevator to get even for Monday morning by brushing his fingers against Neal’s thigh…

The car was safe. They didn’t have all day to be out and about, so Peter couldn’t just pull the car over and fuck Neal senseless in the backseat. Both men were able to regain their equilibrium somewhat as they drove to Brooklyn, but Neal was feeling fidgety even after the lust cooled. The need to tell Peter about Fowler and Judge Clark was still there, the words crowding his tongue… and then there was Mozzie’s suggestion about Kate…

Reaching up, Neal started flipping through the OnStar options, needing the distraction. Peter glanced his way at the motion. “Stop playing with the buttons,” he scolded.

“I wanna get the map thing,” Neal objected. Peter swatted his hand, and Neal felt the urge to stick his tongue out at him. There were times that Peter treated him more like they were father and teenaged son than lovers, and Neal did _not_ have a ‘Daddy’ kink. Peter flipped the turn signal to change lanes and Neal spotted the car crowding up on them that Peter wouldn’t. “Blind spot.”

“Got it.” Peter let the driver pass, feeling tension that had nothing to do with sex suddenly spike in the air. _Neal’s wanted to tell me something all morning…_

Finally, needing to break the silence, Neal elected the lesser of two evils. “I need to ask you about Kate.”

The words fell like lead balloons. Peter’s mood evaporated; there was nothing that killed ardor faster than a reminder that your lover was in love with someone else. Glancing at Neal, Peter tried to hope that this wouldn’t be the conversation he’d been dreading. “I told you everything.”

“You didn’t tell me how you contacted her,” Neal countered.

 _Because I don’t want you to know… because I don’t want her feeding you more of her lies and getting you to run and risking your life… because I don’t want the conniving little bitch anywhere near you ever again… you’re **mine** , dammit…_ “I’m a fed,” Peter replied carefully. He couldn’t risk letting his anger show; couldn’t betray that much when Neal would only use it against him in the end. “If I want to find someone, I do.”

Neal was almost afraid to ask… didn’t want the question to push Peter away… not when it seemed all he wanted lately was to crawl inside Peter Burke and never come out. “Can you get a message to her?”

 _No. I don’t want to be your carrier pigeon. I don’t want to help you contact her… I don’t want you to have anything to do with her._ “I can try,” Peter found himself saying instead, unable to deny Neal something that obviously meant a great deal. “What do you want to say?” _Don’t ask me to tell her you love her. Don’t ask me to tell her that everything will be all right someday. Don’t ask me for more than I can bear to give._

Those russet eyes were veiled; Neal could almost read the thoughts Peter was trying to hide. A thousand missives reeled through Neal’s mind, but he could only give voice to the one he knew Peter would send. “Tell her I’m starting to wonder if the bottle really did mean good-bye.”

Tears burned his eyes as Neal looked away. The words tasted bitter as gall, his heart threatening to rip and bleed inside his chest. He couldn’t face Peter’s scrutiny now… couldn’t give suspicion more reign than it had already. Peter and Moz had planted seeds of doubt, and something about Kate’s voice that day at Grand Central…

Peter kept glancing at Neal, verifying that his lover was all right, but the remaining quarter mile to the Burke home was silent as the grave.

* * *

Greeting his wife with the almost careless familiarity that a decade-long marriage breeds, Peter tossed his coat on the couch and walked into the dining area. Neal kept his coat on, feeling off-balance but composed. He wasn’t used to this yet. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to the idea that Elizabeth was not only accepting of his sexual relationship with Peter, but insisted that Neal come to their home at least once a week like he was a part of their family. “Elizabeth, thanks for the invite.” Coming to stand beside Peter at the dining table, Neal could identify the sample offerings on sight. “Foie gras.” _A delicacy I really wish would fall out of mode…_

“Yeah, I have a lot of it.” Elizabeth rose from the table and pointed to one of the dishes. “Um… I want you guys to try this one first, ‘kay?” Obediently, both men took up a petite toast spread with the pâté. “I haven’t had time to try them but they look good.”

The taste hit Peter’s tongue and he nearly gagged. He couldn’t even bring himself to swallow the mouthful and nearly spit it back out. “Uh…” he grunted, the half-chewed gunk encumbering his tongue. He recovered slightly at Elizabeth’s long-suffering expression and tried to lie. “Yeah… delicious.”

Elizabeth’s face went from long-suffering to exasperated. “Okay: _that’s_ why I wanted to invite Neal.”

“Why?” Peter demanded, still trying to decide what to do with the food he desperately did not want in his mouth anymore. “Because he’s a good liar?”

“No! Because he appreciates fine cuisine,” Elizabeth retorted, annoyed.

“Which this is not.” Neal had only taken a small bite of the petite toast and managed to force himself to swallow it. He didn’t want to hurt Elizabeth’s feelings, but she wanted an honest opinion… _Peter and I need to have a chat about etiquette… if I ever see his mouth open with half-masticated food in it again, it will be too soon._ “No one could lie that well.”

As if for the first time, Elizabeth picked up one of the toasts and scented the pâté spread on it. “Ooh… yeah, that does smell bad. Thank God you guys tried it first!” Peter finally spit his into a napkin and slid his tongue in and out of his mouth in an effort to clear the taste from his palate as Elizabeth sat down with her pad. “Okay: this caterer’s off my list.”

“So who was the other unfortunate guinea pig?” Peter asked, hoping for a little amusement to take his mind off the offal he’d just consumed.

Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise. “No one.”

“Well, then why are there two coffee cups on the table?”

“Oh, I made coffee for the cable guy,” Elizabeth told him casually. “It went out this morning, so he came by to fix it.”

 _In New York?_ Alarms started shrieking in Neal’s head. _No service professional gets to a non-emergency call on the same day the service goes out. You’re lucky if they show up the same week._ He glanced at Peter, his eyes narrow. “They got someone out here fast,” he commented blandly.

Peter’s head was giving him the same alarms, which only got louder as he caught Neal’s gaze. “When did you call them?”

“Actually, they called me.” Elizabeth was completely blasé, aware of her men’s growing concerns. _They’re just being overprotective. They’re both sweet like that…_ “They accidentally cut a power line down the street; they were fixing the cable so they sent someone.” Seeing the looks Peter and Neal were exchanging, Elizabeth was torn between the urge to hug them for caring and swat them for being such worrywarts. “I thought it was a little strange, too, but I actually asked the neighbors and their cable went out as well. Why? What’s wrong?”

Picking up the phone on the table, Peter paged through the call history until he found their cable company’s name. Pressing the redial button and putting the phone on speaker, the tinny voice of the operator saying that the number was no longer in service sent the alarms into full red-alert Star-Trek-style claxons. Peter grabbed his wife’s notebook and pen, quickly scribbling ‘BUG’ on an empty page.

Neal nodded his agreement. Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and fear bloomed across her delicate face. As Peter stepped away to check the cable converter box on the living area television, Neal sat in the chair near Elizabeth. _Keep her calm… there’s no danger yet… just distract her… at least she’s okay…_ “So, uh… where’s the gala your new client’s hosting?”

“It’s… it’s at the Met,” Elizabeth managed, her heart racing. She kept glancing at Peter, grateful for Neal’s presence beside her. “It’s next week.”

“I love the Met.” Neal almost reached out to take her hand, needing the edges of panic in her eyes to recede. _Damn you to Hell, Fowler… Kate, Peter… now Elizabeth… I’m going to end you before you can hurt the people I love more than you already have…_ “They have this fantastic Matisse I’ve always admired,” he continued, hoping to at least make Elizabeth smile with a little outrageousness. “It’s on the second floor… right near the fire exit…”

The smile didn’t come, but Peter had found the bug inside the converter. He pulled it out and held it up, his expression grim. Neal grabbed Elizabeth’s notebook and wrote under Peter’s scrawl: ‘What now?’

“Now?” Peter’s voice was taut with barely contained rage. _Twice they’ve been in my home… this time, while my wife was here… if it’s the last thing I do, I’m putting Fowler in a cage smaller than Neal’s ever was…_ “Now I am pissed off!” he fairly shouted into the bug. Putting the tiny device on the floor, Peter took great satisfaction in smashing it to pieces with one stomp of his foot.

Standing up, Neal pulled Elizabeth gently to her feet. “Come on,” he said quietly. “You’re pale as a sheet; Peter, grab your coats: we can get some air out back.” _Get them outside… get them out of this house in case there are any others…_

“Yeah.” Elizabeth’s voice was still unsteady as her gaze remained fixed on the shrapnel that had been a listening device. Had she said anything that would betray Peter’s relationship with Neal? She didn’t think so. Would it matter to the men that had planted the device? Possibly… but she couldn’t remember saying anything of importance… nothing that couldn’t be interpreted more than one way, anyway… Finally, obeying the gentle tug of Neal’s hand, she followed him outside.

Peter had pulled on his coat and retrieved Elizabeth’s before following them out the back door onto the lattice-walled small patio behind the house. Elizabeth pulled her coat on as well and they sat down at the table, speaking in hushed tones. “You suspected something the moment she mentioned the cable guy,” Peter accused Neal. “What aren’t you telling me? Is it Fowler?”

Neal couldn’t help glancing at Elizabeth, who was still slightly pale. “I don’t want to talk about it here,” he demurred softly.

“Do you think there could be more inside?” Elizabeth fretted.

“I’ll take care of it,” Peter assured her, sighing angrily.

“No,” Neal insisted. “You can’t go through the normal channels; OPR has too much reach inside the Bureau.”

 _He’s right… I hate it when he’s right about things like this._ “What do you suggest?”

“I know a cleaning guy,” Neal offered, knowing Moz had the perfect equipment to detect things even the Bureau would miss. “Does a great job on my place.”

“No way!” Peter knew instantly that Neal was talking about ‘Haversham’; he didn’t want the strange little thief anywhere near Elizabeth. He barely tolerated that the man was a regular visitor to Neal. “Not him.”

“Honey, we have to put a stop to this.” Fear was ebbing, and frustration was taking its place. Elizabeth didn’t know much about this Fowler person that they were up against; Peter was keeping as much of the situation from her as he could, just in case; but she _really_ didn’t like being duped into helping someone spy on her family.

 _There isn’t much choice… it’s an emergency and I can’t risk there being any more bugs in the house… maybe Jones could come over to stay with El…_ “All right, fine; call your guy. But I want someone I can trust watching him in case he…” Peter didn’t even want to think about it. “Whatever he does,” he finished lamely.

“In case he…?” Elizabeth didn’t like how Peter left that hanging. “In case he what?”

“He’s…” Peter groped for a word that wouldn’t frighten his wife further. “Odd.”

“In a good way,” Neal was quick to add, hoping to assuage any concerns Elizabeth might have. He knew Moz wouldn’t do anything to Elizabeth. He might have to talk _very_ fast to keep Moz from stealing half the items in the Burke house that weren’t nailed down, but to his knowledge, Moz had never actually done physical harm to anyone.

“Who is this guy?” Elizabeth asked, confused.

“He’s an old friend,” Neal assured her. “Completely harmless, a little paranoid, and good at what he does. He taught me.”

Confusion turned to curiosity in an instant. Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Okay, then… someone I guess I should meet sooner or later.”

Peter was now curious, too; he hadn’t realized that Moz had been Neal’s mentor in crime. “Make the call.”

Nodding, Neal pulled out his untraceable phone and dialed a number.

_“Yeah?”_

“Need a cleaning job,” Neal told Moz quickly. “There’s a house off Flatbush Avenue Extension with a bug problem.”

_“The suit’s house? You actually want me to come to the suit’s house with that kind of equipment?”_

“The faster the better,” Neal replied. “They’re really big bugs.”

 _“Only for you, man.”_ The line went dead.

Peter had sent a quick text to Jones while Neal was on with Moz. “He coming?”

“Yeah. Should be here soon.” Neal glanced at Elizabeth, who was sliding back towards worry again, and reached out to take her hand. “It’s going to be okay, Elizabeth. I promise: Moz is one of the best. If he can’t find bugs, there aren’t any to be found.”

The text message came back from Jones, agreeing to come. Peter found himself watching the two people he loved most in the world through half-lidded eyes: dark heads bent close, one consoling the other, pale hands touching intimately but not sexually… blue eyes that were so similar… _I can’t believe I’m actually admitting this… even to myself… but I love him for his clever wit and his brilliant mind and his shenanigans… I love the way he’s taking care of El right now, as if she belongs to us both… it’s going to be Hell when he abandons us for Kate… and I’m not sure if I’ll hate him more for breaking my heart or Elizabeth’s._

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to him, and Peter pulled himself from his reverie. “Jones is coming; he’ll stay here with El and Haversham until the sweep is done.”

“Where are you going?” Elizabeth asked.

“We’ve got to get back to the case,” Peter told her gently. “The sooner we close it, the sooner we can deal with the bastard who keeps bugging the house.”

“How about I take Satch for a walk?” Neal offered. “You should get that food in the fridge… or throw it away… and it won’t be long before Moz gets here.”

“That’s a good idea.” Elizabeth stepped inside, put Satchmo on his lead, and brought him out to Neal. There was barely time enough for her men to exchange more than a glance, and Elizabeth didn’t want to be alone in the house with listening devices possibly lurking in the corners. “Thanks, Neal.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Neal promised.

“You’d better be,” Peter warned. “We need to have a talk.”

“Yes, dear.” Grinning at the outraged look on Peter’s face that finally got Elizabeth to laugh, Neal tugged Satchmo’s lead and headed for the sidewalk.


	3. Bad Judgment Redux – Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Satchmo probably got a much longer walk than he was used to at that time of the day, even from the dog-sitter. Neal had a lot on his mind, and walking the streets of Brooklyn gave him an opportunity to re-order his thoughts.

Fowler wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to back down. Neither was Peter. Both of them were like pit bulls on chains, straining to reach each other and prove they were the toughest dog in the yard. It was a fight that Neal was very afraid Peter would lose. Fowler was going to play dirtier than Peter ever would.

He needed to find that music box. Now. Before Fowler could hamstring Peter. Nothing bad could happen to Peter. What happened to Peter happened to Elizabeth. Nothing bad could happen to Peter and Elizabeth.

Why Kate’s safety from Fowler didn’t seem nearly as paramount was something Neal didn’t want to think about too carefully. It was the result of Peter and Mozzie’s doubts about her; that was all. Once he could see her, talk to her face to face, he would prove them wrong and everything would be fine.

_“You think that if you do this, you won’t have to choose between Kate and Peter someday, Neal?”_

_I can’t choose. I love them both. How can I choose between two people I love?_

By the time Neal got back to the Burke residence, Moz and Jones were both already there, and Moz was scanning the living area, including Neal when he walked in. Elizabeth looked like she was meeting the in-law that nobody ever talked about and realizing there was a reason. Jones just looked entertained. Neal prayed Moz would behave himself.

“Thanks, Neal; for walking Satch.” Elizabeth took Satchmo’s lead from Neal with a tight smile.

“Anytime.” Neal was glad Moz wasn’t finding anything else immediately, but that also made him more nervous. Not finding anything immediately could mean that the bastards got creative, which meant he and Peter might not see them coming…

“So, um… you sure he won’t try anything?” Elizabeth asked, nervously watching as Moz tasted one of the remaining samplers on the dining table.

“Do you have any rare paintings or coins?” Neal asked, as if he didn’t already know from having been here multiple times.

Elizabeth looked surprised by the question, knowing Neal already knew the answer. “No.”

“You’ll be okay,” Neal assured her quietly. When Moz asked about the silverware’s make on the heels of that assurance, Neal was quite sure he could cheerfully have killed his friend. “Maybe you should keep an eye on him.”

“Yeah.” Elizabeth turned and grabbed Peter’s coat from the couch as Moz admired their Baccarat vase and Jones, with a brief smile at Peter, walked over to stand near the strange little man. “Well, I don’t know what case you guys are working on, but wrap it up fast, okay? Come on, Satch.” With two quick kiss sounds, she led Satchmo towards the kitchen, passing the coat to Peter as she went.

“Think they’ll be okay here?” Peter asked skeptically as he pulled on his coat.

Neal was about to assure him they would be when El and Moz broke into a brief squabble because Moz scanned Satchmo. His answer immediately changed to: “I don’t want to stick around and find out.”

“Me either,” Peter agreed. Neal was surprised to find that Peter actually looked almost as entertained as Jones. “Besides,” Peter said as he opened the front door, “you have some explaining to do.”

“Is this going to be painful?” Neal asked innocently as they grabbed umbrellas from the small mud room on their way out.

“Only if you make me drag the information out of you,” Peter replied.

“You’ll find I can withstand all sorts of interrogation techniques, Agent Burke.” Neal grinned at him impishly. When all Peter did was glower rather than returning the flirtation, Neal’s face fell. “Okay, okay: I sent Moz a text before we left the office last night, asking him to find any intel he could on Judge Clark.”

“And?” Peter asked impatiently.

“And…” Neal braced for the explosion even as he opened his umbrella upon feeling the first drops of rain on his face. “She signed off on all Fowler’s warrants and subpoenas when he was framing me for the pink diamond theft.”

Peter felt his blood start simmering as he opened his own umbrella and started for the car. Trust Fowler to somehow be tangled up in the most innocuous looking case Peter could ever take on. _Some days, it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed… no matter where I’m sleeping._ “So Fowler’s trying to protect his pocket judge for Operation Mentor. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 _Because Moz convinced me not to… I shouldn’t listen to him… not when it comes to Peter, anyway… he doesn’t know Peter like I do._ “I was getting to it,” Neal lied.

“He knows I pulled our detective’s file.”

“He realizes you’re on his trail,” Neal agreed. “He comes after you.”

“Us!” Peter corrected. “He comes after us.” _He might be gunning for me, but only because I’m standing between him and you, Neal… and that’s how it’s going to be until I can shove that damned music box where the sun don’t shine… I won’t let him get to you…_

“Maybe we can get to him first,” Neal suggested, “through Judge Clark.” _That way, I don’t have to worry about the music box… if we can take down Fowler, then Kate’s free, and… and…_

_I don’t know what happens next._

“This thing Fowler wants from you,” Peter grumbled. “The music box: better play one catchy tune.” _I don’t care why the bastard wants it… I don’t care if it’s stolen or not… I just want him out of our lives._

“It’s worth it,” Neal insisted. _Worth it to get rid of Fowler… worth it to have really done what I’ve gotten the credit for doing… worth it to free Kate…_

 _No, it’s not… nothing is worth this kind of risk to you, Neal… nothing is worth frightening my wife and threatening my career and either getting you sent back up or you vanishing into the wind with Kate…_ “Why are guys like you always interested in antiques with a dangerous history?” Peter challenged, trying to vent his irritation by saying anything but what was rattling around in his head.

“Because they have a lasting impact,” Neal replied, grinning. “Look at how they’re affecting us right now.” _Come on, Peter… at least see the humor in that… gallows humor, but humor! I can’t do this if you’re brooding…_

“Unbelievable.” Peter shook his head, not sure what, if anything about this entire situation, he would believe if someone were telling him this story. “We are about to go after a federal judge.”

Neal darted around Peter, bringing him up short. “It’s worth it to take down Fowler.”

 _I can’t really argue that point._ Peter sighed. “Okay… we stop the judge from taking the Sullivan home. Then we get her disrobed.” The smirk on Neal’s lips had Peter scrambling as he realized the Freudian slip he’d just made. “You know what I meant,” he grumbled. “We lean on her hard enough, she’ll flip on Fowler.” Neal’s smirk just widened. Peter nearly smacked himself in the forehead. “You know what I meant!” Neal just turned, walking towards the car without comment, and Peter had the urge to walk back to the house, throw Haversham out, and go back to bed; OPR bugs be damned. “That’s not what I meant.”

The moment they were back in the car, Neal’s smirk broke into a wide, smug grin. “Have I been keeping you hard up for too long, Agent Burke?”

“I’ll suffer through,” Peter replied a bit snappishly. “We’ve got too much work to do.”

Neal leaned closer, his left hand coming to rest on Peter’s right thigh. “It won’t take long, Peter… depending on your concentration, I can handle it while you drive.”

Peter’s eyes shuttered. For a moment, he almost gave in to the urge to let Neal fulfill that promise… shaking himself, he pushed the impulse aside. “Later. We’ve got work to do, and if Fowler’s onto us about Judge Clark, we’ve got even less time than we thought.”

“If you’re sure,” Neal replied with a shrug, secretly disappointed as he removed his hand from Peter’s thigh after giving it a light squeeze. He’d actually wanted to see how well Peter could focus with him bent over Peter’s lap, staying down low enough that no one outside the car could see him… _Neal Caffrey, you are a shameless hussy for this man._

_Yes, I am. And I’m enjoying every minute of it._

The only answer Peter could manage was to start the car.

* * *

Back at the office, Price met them on their way across the bullpen. “I got those files you requested on Judge Clark,” he reported to Peter quietly.

“Good job, Price.” Peter knew his team was top-notch; they didn’t need hand-held to get their jobs done. “Get the crew together; we are gonna pore over everything. Scout for any discrepancies on every deed and foreclosure notice we’ve got, starting with the Sullivan home.”

Price stepped past Peter with a mumbled acknowledgment, and Neal’s gaze followed the movement automatically. A familiar face coming off the elevator caught his eye, and his temper started to simmer in his veins. Peter caught his expression. “What is it?” With a nod behind them from Neal, Peter turned and felt his hackles rise.

“Good to see you again, Agent Burke.” Fowler was as arrogant as ever, wearing a pose of camaraderie as he sauntered in with his wingman a step behind him.

It only served to exacerbate Peter’s urgent desire to drive his fist into that smug smile. “What are you doing here?” Peter demanded, trying to keep his voice low but not even bothering with civility.

“I’m working on a project in New York,” Fowler almost taunted as he reached them.

Needing to dent that pompous veneer, Peter decided to let Fowler know he wasn’t playing this game blindfolded. “Operation Mentor?”

That definitely disrupted Fowler’s calm. “I can’t comment on that,” he snapped. “In fact, I would say you’re not supposed to know it even exists.”

“You can pin this one on me,” Neal advised blandly. _You haven’t damaged us, Fowler. You may have perverted what Kate and I shared… maybe even irreparably… but you can’t drive Peter and me apart._ “You like pinning things on me, right?”

Fowler looked outraged, color starting to mottle the base of his neck, when Hughes called down to him from the second level walkway. “Agent Fowler? Received your request this morning. We’ll set you up in one of our offices.”

“You’re working out of here?” Peter demanded as Fowler stepped past them.

“Aw, relax, Burke.” Smug superiority returned, and Fowler couldn’t resist adding a passing dig. “Just borrowing your phones for a little while.”

Red rimmed the edges of Peter’s vision. Neal shifted closer to him, letting Peter know that he was right there and he was all right. “Peter… Peter, don’t. We’ll get him… don’t let him get to you first.”

The rage receded, just a fraction, just enough to remember that Neal was within arms’ reach and Fowler couldn’t hurt Neal if they were together. “Conference room,” he grated. “We’re out of time if that bastard’s here to dog our every move.”

* * *

Hours passed. Neal recalled once complaining bitterly to Peter that mortgage fraud cases meant going blind over paperwork all day. That aspect hadn’t changed much, but Neal’s attitude was far different in this case. There was so much at stake: the Sullivans, with their charming daughter; Judge Clark, who was obviously misusing her authority; and Fowler, who had everything to gain if Peter and Neal took their shot at Judge Clark and failed to bring her down.

When Peter sent everyone for a break, however, Neal stayed where he was. His concentration on the documents he’d been scrutinizing caught Peter’s attention. “You got something?”

“Maybe.” When Peter sat down next to him, Neal handed him the first sheaf of papers. “Sullivan’s father Michael signed the original mortgage in November of 1962. This…” Neal handed Peter the second sheaf. “… is his signature on the second mortgage he supposedly took out.”

Peter caught the word choice instantly. “Supposedly?”

“Yeah. There is a mild hesitation mark in the loop of the ‘L’.” Neal watched Peter’s eyes flicker between the two signatures. “It’s a forgery.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Forging a signature is all about confidence.” Neal handed Peter a legal pad and pen. “Here: sign this.”

Dutifully, Peter signed his name. He then watched, amazed, as Neal took up the pen and flawlessly duplicated his signature without so much as turning the pad around to see the name right-side up. “How did you do that?” Peter asked, feeling like he’d just been shown a particularly cool magic trick.

“Well, your hand is programmed over years to write letters a certain way,” Neal explained. “You try to mimic someone else’s and your own style will always creep in. But, turn the signature upside down, and it becomes nothing more than a drawing. All you have to do is copy the lines. Your preconceptions about letters go away and you have a perfect signature.”

“That’s a neat trick,” Peter complimented, adding a warning: “Don’t ever copy mine again.”

“Never again,” Neal promised quickly.

 _Too quickly… dammit, Neal; am I ever going to know everything you’ve done?_ “You have copied my signature?”

“Let’s focus on the crime at hand,” Neal re-directed, not wanting to address this line of questioning… he didn’t even want to answer that question later…

“Hey, guys.” Neal and Peter’s heads both shot up as Fowler stepped into the doorway, feigning bland curiosity. “What’ch’ya doing?”

Instantly territorial, unreasonably furious that Fowler had invaded a private moment between him and Neal, platonic though it was, it was all Peter could do to restrain his response to a snapped: “You need something, Fowler?” Feigning surprise at Peter’s hostility, Fowler just shrugged and walked away.

Peter seethed, his eyes never leaving Fowler until the man was well out of sight. _He wants me to know that he can invade my territory whenever he wants… that he can just wander in and listen in and I can’t stop him… at least not until I shove him in a box, cram that box into that stupid music box he’s after and drop it off the Brooklyn Bridge…_ “All right: I’m going to get clearance from the Bureau to talk to our judge,” Peter bit out, rising from his seat.

“You need clearance?” Neal was a little startled by that. _Just for a chat?_

“To talk to a federal judge? Yeah; and you’re going to stay here.” Peter started out of the room. “Last time you were in a judge’s chamber, you jumped out the window.”

Neal held up his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture, wishing that he could raise an objection to Peter bringing that up like he had to the threats about prison. Being left behind gave him an opportunity to send a quick text to Moz, alerting him that they needed to meet tonight about the music box and checking on things at the Burke house, but he wasn’t happy about being here at the office with Fowler lurking about.

He didn’t feel safe if Peter wasn’t there.

Time crawled. Neal busied himself with the foreclosure files, finding forged signatures on the deeds in every case. He examined the facts of the affidavits, searching for weaknesses in the arguments. It was a fruitless search: he wasn’t a lawyer and he hadn’t read nearly enough law books to be able to fake it, but it kept his hands and eyes busy while his mind wandered.

Peter was out there, meeting with Fowler’s judge. A woman who had the power to steal people’s homes and violate their civil rights with a pass of her pen. For all Neal knew, she had helped Fowler put Kate in her current position… had helped strip Kate of any ability to maneuver in her own defense… she could only angle to get Neal to give her the music box to barter for her freedom…

But Fowler was based out of Washington. Moz had verified after Neal had confronted him in that hotel room that Fowler had left the city. So who did he have monitoring Kate when he wasn’t here? Was part of that OPR team staying in that hotel all the time? Was Peter passing messages to Kate through an agent on Fowler’s team who was playing both sides? Who felt sorry for the position Fowler had put her in, and had given the ATM picture to Peter as a tip?

Was that Fowler in the photo with Kate? Or was it another agent working with him? What kind of shadow network were they up against here?

Unable to concentrate any longer, Neal abandoned the files and took a seat at the empty desk near the front of the office. As soon as Peter got off the elevator, Neal leaped to his side. “Hey… miss anything good?”

Peter actually smiled. “She offered me a bribe.”

“Really?” _Perfect… mortgage fraud… signing off on flimsy searches and subpoenas… and now bribing a federal agent. We’ve got her… and Fowler will never see it coming._ “How much you worth?”

“Quarter million.”

“That’s it?” Neal shook his head as Peter’s face fell. _How dare she make such a paltry offer for Peter’s integrity! He’s worth a million, easy._ “If I’d known you were that cheap, I woulda bribed you myself.”

“No amount of money would have been as satisfying as catching you the first time,” Peter replied archly. “Or the second.”

 _The second didn’t count… or the third for that matter… and he really doesn’t want to start bringing up the fact that he’s the reason I was sent to prison in the first place… not if he expects to ever have sex with me again._ “No one likes a bragger,” Neal returned, his voice low and angry. They were inches apart, and Peter’s smile had that slightly superior twist… if they hadn’t been in the office, Neal would have openly reminded Peter that he was playing with fire…

But they were in the office, and the walls of the rooms were perfectly transparent bullet-resistant glass, and Fowler was still here somewhere; Neal could feel his eyes on them. “So we have ourselves a dirty judge.”

“Think we do,” Peter agreed. “I’ll put in a request with Hughes to authorize a sting.”

“He went home a couple hours ago,” Neal advised. “You’ll have to do it in the morning.”

“Just as well.” Peter sighed. “It’ll keep, and I shouldn’t leave El alone tonight.” He kept glancing up at the office Fowler occupied, confident that he had the upper hand. “I can drop you at June’s, or… you could come back to the house with me.”

“June’s. Moz is meeting me there…” Glancing at Fowler’s office, Neal checked his words. “For drinks.”

Peter opened the file folder in his hands, paging through it and keeping one eye on Fowler’s office. “We’ll have to move fast to get the sting set up once Hughes approves it; we can’t afford to have Fowler here indefinitely.”

“Think we have a chance of getting Fowler, too?” Neal almost wanted to hope they would… knew things were probably moving too fast to do so, unless Fowler made a mistake…

“Not likely,” Peter admitted regretfully. “We don’t have time for anything too elaborate. I wish we did.” Sighing, Peter closed the file and handed it off to one of his agents who had also stayed late. “Let’s get out of here. Everything will still be here in the morning.”

* * *

The day had been long for Elizabeth, too, but it hadn’t felt like it. After a few hours, she’d actually gotten used to Mozzie’s somewhat awkward manners, and it was obvious that Neal was right about him. Mozzie wasn’t polished, but he was sweet and genuinely concerned about her and Peter, even if in a somewhat tangential fashion, because their safety impacted Neal. The man was completely loyal to Neal; that helped Elizabeth thaw towards him quite a bit.

Half the house had been torn apart and put back together again. Moz hadn’t left anything unchecked. Clinton had helped unpack and repack everything the Burkes owned from their usual storage spaces, and El had even taken the opportunity to reorganize a few things. All in all, she was in a much better mood than when her husband and his lover had left her alone with this pair after lunch. _Nothing like a reorganization project to help deal with stress…_

Pulling a box down from the top shelf of the last closet, Elizabeth grinned triumphantly. The box was a little awkward, and Moz took it from her as she turned with it and stepped off the small stepstool. “Thank you.”

“Whoa!” Moz lifted a set of photographs out of the box. “Old investigation?”

Elizabeth looked at the pile in his hands and smiled. “Uh… more like Peter’s surveillance photos. I used to work as an assistant manager at an art gallery downtown,” she hurried to explain. “There was a theft, and Peter was the lead investigator.”

“You were a suspect?” Jones asked, only a little surprised. _The boss appears to have a pattern… would certainly explain a few things… can’t see Elizabeth being considered a potential thief, though…_

“I was a witness,” she corrected. _Neal’s the only thief that Peter’s fallen in love with._ “But he wanted to know if I had a boyfriend.”

Moz rolled his eyes. “More like add you to the list of corporate, government…” Trailing off, his tirade was silenced by Elizabeth’s expression before it could gather steam. _Wrong audience…_ “I mean, how charming.”

Elizabeth let his obvious lack of sincerity on that statement slide with a nod. “Anyways… he kept droning on about this Italian restaurant but didn’t have the courage to ask me out.” She noticed Moz flipping through the pictures, finding the one she was about to allude to: herself, standing alone in a doorway wearing a winter coat, holding up a sign on dollar store poster-board that said ‘I ♥ Italian!’ “So I… well, I gave him a hint.”

“Misappropriating FBI resources to follow a girl.” Mozzie shook his head. The story was charming, but he couldn’t help his astonishment.

“It’s been known to happen,” Clinton confirmed dryly.

Moz looked back at Elizabeth, who was smiling fondly at the memory. _She loves the suit… this is what a woman in love looks like… Kate never looked at Neal like this._ “The suit is sly,” he complimented, trying to make up for the start of his paranoid rant.

“He’s a bit of a bad boy,” Elizabeth agreed.

Peter came in and around the corner, looking at the three of them standing around like they’d been best friends since grade school. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh!” Moz quickly turned and put the photos back in the box. “We… we were just wrapping up for the night.”

“We?” Peter echoed, his face clearly incredulous as he turned to his wife. “What are you, a team now?” Elizabeth looked at Moz, smiling fondly as he looked at her almost uncertainly. They’d developed a rapport today. _Perfect… next, El’s going to be inviting him to dinner, too…_ “Will you be finishing up soon?” Peter wanted to know.

“I’ll need a few more days,” Moz told him quickly. “The downstairs is clear, but the upstairs is still a potential minefield.”

“So you’re telling us that we shouldn’t sleep in our own bedroom?” Peter asked as Moz gathered his equipment.

“Do either of you talk in your sleep?” Moz asked.

Peter denied it even as El told him that Peter did, which got her a betrayed expression from her husband. Moz just looked at both of them, then turned and headed to for the door without comment. “Jones,” Peter ordered. “Drive him home.”

“Oh! Nice try, suit!” Moz paused to give Peter a warning shake of his finger. “Nice try. Haversham, out.”

“Don’t forget the pâté!” El called after him.

“Already packed!”

Peter stared at Elizabeth like he couldn’t believe his ears. When she just looked at him, daring him to find something wrong with the fact that she was being friendly towards Neal’s friend, he turned his attention to Jones. “He do anything suspicious?”

“More amusing than anything else,” Jones replied. He’d found himself liking Moz, too. It was easy to see why Neal must like him; he was affable, if a bit out there, and he really was harmless.

“Thanks, Jones.” Peter sighed in relief, glad that Jones had been here all afternoon without complaint. “Get some rest.” As Jones bid them both good-night and left, Peter turned to his wife. It had been a long, stressful day for him, and he needed the comfort she always offered.

“So…” Elizabeth reached out, brushing one hand down his chest playfully. “Where are we gonna sleep tonight?”

A part of her hoped Peter would suggest June’s house. Neal was there, safe and protected, and Elizabeth would have enjoyed spending the night. June would likely have taken them in without hesitation, and she might have convinced Peter…

But those russet eyes turned towards the camping gear, unused for years, which had been pulled from the closet they had just finished searching for listening devices. Peter smiled his ‘I have an idea’ smile; his charming smile that meant he was about to be adorably romantic; and Elizabeth let the thought go.

Without a word, she grabbed her sleeping bag and carried it into the dining area, rolling it out in front of the table. Peter followed suit, and, as they reclined on their makeshift bed, he gazed adoringly into her eyes across the few inches that separated them. “Who says you can’t camp in New York City?” Elizabeth asked, turning her head towards the ceiling. The embers smoldering in his eyes worked on her as much as they must on Neal, and she needed a moment to catch her breath. He was always doing sweet, wonderful things like this… proving without words that he loved her…

“I owe you for this, El,” Peter told her softly. _I’ll always have her… no matter what happens with Neal and Fowler and all the rest… I’ll always have El. I won’t let myself lose her._

“Well, you can start with dinner,” Elizabeth teased.

“Saturday night?” Peter offered. “Italian?”

“It’s a date.” She leaned in to meet his lips as he rolled towards her, his hand coming to rest on her thigh…

A knock sounded at the door. Peter groaned, a sound Elizabeth almost echoed in her own frustration. “It is like Grand Central in here,” Peter groused as he stood to answer the door. Elizabeth sat up, her gaze following her husband.

Of all the people she might have expected to be standing in their tiny mud room at this hour of the night, Reese Hughes was definitely not one of them. Peter let him in, as surprised as Elizabeth, and Elizabeth greeted him warmly when Hughes greeted her. “What: are you camping?” Hughes asked, noticing the rolled out gear.

“Long story,” Peter said quickly. “What’s wrong?” There was no reason for Hughes to be here if something wasn’t wrong. _Did something happen to Neal? Is he here to tell me they’re revoking the deal for some reason? Or maybe he’s hurt…?_

Reese just looked at Elizabeth for a moment, his expression careful and his dark, narrow eyes somehow kind. “I need to speak to Peter,” he said simply, asking her to leave and apologizing for it in the same sentence.

“Of course.” Elizabeth stood and stepped into the kitchen. Her concern for Peter, however, kept her just behind the door and the door partially open, allowing her to hear every word.

Those words were terrifying. If Elizabeth thought she’d been afraid when Peter and Neal had found the listening device that she’d been duped into letting those men in to plant, it was nothing compared to the clutch at her heart as Reese warned Peter of what was coming.

OPR investigation. Peter on video tape, not accepting but not refusing a bribe from a federal judge. Hughes couldn’t protect Peter from what the tape implied, no matter what he might believe about Peter’s actions. _Peter could lose his job… they could bring him up on criminal charges… he could go to jail… Peter would never survive prison… I’d lose him forever… and Neal… what will happen to Neal if Peter loses his job? Even if he doesn’t go to prison, who’s going to take care of Neal? Or will they just send him back to prison again to be raped and assaulted… maybe even killed this time… I could lose both of them to this…_

As Reese left, Elizabeth stepped back into the living area, feeling numb from shock. “This is serious, isn’t it?” She couldn’t bring her voice up above a murmur.

“Yeah…” Peter was already lost in his own head, trying to map a path out of the tangled briars he now found himself in. “Hughes could lose his job for what he just told me.”

“This guy… um… Fowler…” Elizabeth decided in that moment that she hated the man, even though she’d never seen his face or heard his voice. “He’s not going to stop?”

“No.” Peter’s eyes were no longer warm embers, but cold, dark, his thoughts far away. “I’ll fix it,” he assured her almost absently.

“How?” Elizabeth challenged, needing more. Needing to help. Fowler had used her to access their home, trying to lay this trap for her husband. She wasn’t going to let Peter fight this alone if she could help it.

“He’s got me on tape,” Peter said, not answering her question. Elizabeth knew in that moment it was because he didn’t have a clue yet. “Honey, I… I’ve gotta go.”

“Don’t apologize.” She kissed Peter sweetly, staying where she was as he reluctantly left her behind. Elizabeth knew he was going to the office. He was going to go alone. He wouldn’t call in his team and he wouldn’t call Neal. He would try and find his way out alone, all night, exhausted and stressed and feeling isolated from everyone.

And there was the tape to be neutralized. Peter was going to try and counter the move, but he couldn’t legally eliminate the damning ribbon of magnetically imprinted information.

Waiting until she was sure Peter was gone, Elizabeth pulled on her shoes and coat, locked up the house, and dashed to the car. She wasn’t above bringing in the help Peter needed. They were a team, after all.


	4. Bad Judgment Redux – Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Neal opened the door as soon as Moz had hidden the documents they’d been reviewing: intel about the music box. He might have expected June, or Maria, the housekeeper; he only had a few visitors, and Peter was spending tonight with Elizabeth…

So he was plainly surprised to see Elizabeth standing on the threshold. Her blue eyes were clouded with anxiety, tears threatening at the corners, her arms hugging around her chest as if she were trying to keep herself from flying apart. “Elizabeth?”

“Um, it’s… it’s Peter…”

Neal’s heart froze in his chest, eyes going wide in horror. _No… no… he can’t be dead… can’t be hurt… she wouldn’t be this calm…_

“…he needs your help.”

 _Needs help means not dead… needs help probably means not hurt… means there’s hope… means we’ll get through whatever it is, somehow…_ “Come in… come in.” Neal put a hand on her shoulder as she entered, closing the door. “Sit down… would you like a glass of wine?”

“No.” She smiled weakly at Moz, taking off her coat and clutching it against her stomach like a security blanket, not noticing that Neal quickly tucked the postcard he’d been holding under a small chessboard on the table by the door. “Hi, Moz.”

“Hey, El.” Moz stood, concerned by her pallor. He liked Elizabeth. Moz knew he didn’t have Neal’s looks or charm, and his manners and opinions weren’t the easiest to get used to. But El had made an effort to be kind, because he was Neal’s friend. It told Moz a good deal about the kind of person Elizabeth was. “Are you okay?”

“Um… yeah, I’m okay… for now.” Seeing that Neal and Moz had papers at the table, El moved to sit on the couch. “But I need you to help Peter. He’s in trouble.”

Neal came to sit beside her, taking her hand. “What happened? And where’s Peter? Why didn’t he call if there’s trouble?”

“Hughes came to the house… he said Peter’s being investigated by OPR.” Elizabeth swallowed past the lump in her throat, glad for Neal’s steadying hand on hers. “Some federal judge offered him a bribe; she was taping their meeting… and OPR is going to use the tape to make it look like Peter’s dirty.”

Neal went cold. _Fowler… Clark… damn them both to Hell…_ “Peter told me about that meeting. He made her think he’d be receptive so he could set up a sting; he was going to ask Hughes to authorize it in the morning.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Moz put in practically. “They’ll use the illusion and bury your fed.”

“Where’s the tape?” Neal asked quickly. _If Fowler has it at the Bureau…_

“I don’t know. Hughes only said that OPR was presenting it in the morning.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “Hughes can’t protect him; he risked his job just warning Peter this was coming. Neal… Peter could go to prison.”

Every drop of blood drained from Neal’s body. Elizabeth tightened her grip on his hand, and Moz stepped forward as if he thought Neal would topple over in a dead faint. _Peter in prison… they’d eat him alive… he’d be impossible to protect…_

A horrible, blood-soaked image rose in his mind: Peter, shanked from behind, renal artery slashed, bleeding out before he could cry for help, russet eyes dark, dead, gone, deaddeaddead…

Shooting to his feet, past Moz, Neal began pacing furiously, his mind whirling. Fowler wouldn’t be waiting until the morning if he already had the tape, and only he could use it to bring Peter down from within. Clark still had it. If she wasn’t using it to blackmail Peter, it was at least worth quid pro quo…

“The Sullivan case,” Neal said aloud, his voice sharp. “The mortgage fraud files. Clark’s using the tape as leverage. Fowler seals them tonight to cut off the investigation; he gets Peter’s head on a plate tomorrow.”

“Which means she still has it,” Moz concluded, catching up with Neal’s thoughts. “Her house?”

Neal shook his head. “She’s playing this too smart. It’s in her chambers, which means we have to intercept it before she can get it to Fowler.”

“Unless you can get it tonight.”

Neal stopped pacing to stare at Elizabeth. The suggestion was utterly absurd. “What?”

“Break into her chambers tonight,” Elizabeth urged. “Steal the tape.”

“Let me get this right,” Neal said, coming to stand near the couch and gripping the back of a nearby chair for stability. “You want us to break into a judge’s office and steal a video tape.”

Elizabeth couldn’t understand the incredulity in Neal’s voice, or the sudden reluctance. “Well, yes… do you have a better idea?”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to break into federal property?” Moz asked her in a reasonable tone, sitting down in the other chair. “A judge’s chambers, no less?”

“You broke out of one,” Elizabeth pointed out to Neal. “And if you don’t do this, Peter could go to prison.”

“Yeah… if I do, I could go back,” Neal reminded her sharply. _There’s got to be another way… Elizabeth’s just desperate and upset and she doesn’t know how these things are done… there’s no way I could do what she’s asking and get out with my freedom…_

Elizabeth’s face set. _You have to do something, and you know it. You can’t just sit back while this Fowler person destroys the man we both love._ Not knowing how much Mozzie knew, “you owe him,” was all she said.

It was all she needed to say. Her sapphire eyes carried enough meaning, her tone enough reproach, to remind Neal that he had risked his life for Peter before, and all his objections wouldn’t change the fact that he would do it again. _Nothing bad can happen to Peter. Fowler’s only after him because of me._ “All right… why don’t you get some rest and… we’ll handle it.”

“Handle… right,” Mozzie said, almost nonsensically. “Like a door knob.”

Neal couldn’t help looking at Moz like he’d lost his mind as El stood up. “Thank you… thank you both.” She quickly walked past Neal, willing to leave them to whatever planning they needed to do now that she knew they would help. She’d already called Jones to tell him what had happened, and he’d agreed to call in the rest of the team. Peter wouldn’t be alone at the office all night, and Neal was going to handle the tape. Everything was going to be all right.

“Get home safe,” Neal urged as she left. As soon as the door closed behind her, Neal turned to face Moz. “Do you have any idea how we’re going to do this?”

Moz smiled as if inspiration had suddenly struck. “Yes, I do. I’ll need to run out and get a few things… and we’ll need information.”

“I can’t leave.” Neal grabbed the emergency cash he stored in a jar on the floating shelf in the kitchen and the spare key June had given him. “Take this. Get whatever you need; pay off whoever you need. And don’t waste time being fancy when you get back. Come in the normal way and use the alarm code.”

Giving Neal a sour look, Moz hurried out, leaving Neal to his thoughts.

_I’m not going to let this bastard hurt you, too, Peter… I’ll bury that music box in his skull before I let him hurt you, too._

* * *

The night passed slowly for both men. Moz stayed with Neal after their planning stage was over, sleeping on his couch. Neal was wide awake, hearing every snort or shuffle as Moz dreamed. Peter wasn’t going to sleep tonight, and Neal couldn’t if he didn’t.

As he sat alone, curled up on the bed he’d shared with Peter so often in the last few weeks and staring into the lightening sky, Neal could almost picture Peter in the bullpen with his team, all sitting at their computers and trying to beat the clock, their work coming to a standstill as Fowler’s influence shut down their access. He could see Peter disappear up into his head again, trying to find a way past the obstruction, running out of time…

_I’m coming, Peter… just hold on a while longer… I’ll get there as soon as I can…_

Their plan felt slapdash, but Neal was used to thinking on his feet. Using the magnet to blank the tape before the courier pick-up was the best option, but it would need to work perfectly… Clark couldn’t see him there… and if she’d shown her clerk the picture of Neal that Fowler had probably given her, just in case…

Dawn. Wednesday. They needed to move. Neal washed his face with cold water to reduce the puffy circles under his eyes, dressed quickly and then picked up his phone.

_“Jones.”_

“Is Peter with you?” Neal asked quickly.

_“Caffrey? Where are you, man? Do you know-”_

“Elizabeth told me last night; she asked me to help with something specific. Just answer me; is Peter with you right now?”

_“No. He went out to find Detective Herrera. Our access got-”_

“Shut down; I figured. Listen.” Neal took a deep breath and prayed this would work. “I need you to call the tracking unit and tell them to ignore my radius for a couple hours. I’ll check in as soon as I’m headed for the office and they can turn the alerts back on, but I need some breathing room. Track me all you want, but don’t sound the alarm if I go outside my boundaries.”

A beat passed. Another. Then, carefully: _“Do I want to know what Elizabeth asked you to do?”_

“It’s for Peter, Clinton.” _The man we’d both lay down our lives for._

 _“I’ll handle the tracking unit. Good luck.”_ The line went dead.

Suppressing a shout of joy that he’d called Clinton Jones right, Neal stepped into the living area to wake Moz. “Come on,” he said as Moz startled awake. “Time to go.”

* * *

“Officer Herrera!” Peter stepped towards the ex-cop as he exited his apartment building, two cups of coffee in Peter’s hands.

Herrera looked surprised to see him, but not pleasantly so. “What do you want, Burke?” he asked brusquely, walking right past Peter.

“I got close to Clark,” Peter told him, falling into step at his side. “Now I’m about to lose my job. You tried to warn me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Herrera denied.

Taking a calculated risk, Peter stopped. “I’m going down? Clark’s coming with me.”

That got Herrera’s attention. He turned and paced back to Peter, dropping all pretenses. “Look… whoever’s giving this judge cover? They won’t stop at you; you understand that, right? They’re gonna go after your friends… your family.”

 _Bastard’s already doing that… you have no idea, Herrera… you can’t possibly have ever wanted to take Clark down as badly as I do. If Fowler still has his pocket judge when I go down, Neal’s a sitting duck…_ “That’s why it’s gotta stop,” Peter insisted, trying not to give away how desperate he was beginning to feel. “I need the evidence that proves she’s dirty. I need to find the money that she got from the Sullivan loan.”

Herrera seemed to consider for a moment, weighing Peter’s passion and tenacity against the blockade that had cost the ex-cop his career. “I got shut down when I… when I requested a search warrant of her judge’s chambers. Start there.”

“They’d be nearly impossible to get into; a great place to hide it.” Peter considered the notion, realizing that it would take a miracle to get what he needed in time to save his career. Hughes was likely to suspend him pending criminal investigation… if Peter could get Jones to take the Sullivan case over… point him in the right direction… Jones might be able to give Neal enough cover to get them through… or at least long enough for Peter to cut Neal’s anklet and disappear with he and El… “I owe you one.” Handing Herrera one of the coffee cups, Peter thanked him and walked away.

* * *

Not far away, Neal was slipping through the exterior security camera’s blind spot and into the courthouse, dressed in his doctored park ranger uniform over his suit. Moz was providing a beautifully overacted distraction outside, and it would give him plenty of time as long as nothing went wrong…

Either he or Peter had to have good karma on their side. Judge Clark’s clerk didn’t even look at him like she was experiencing déjà vu. She fetched the tape, sealed in its messenger envelope, signed the stolen pick-up sheet, and let Neal walk away as if nothing unusual or suspicious had occurred. Neal ran the degaussing magnet over both sides of the envelope from the moment he got out of her sight until he was halfway down the hall, making very sure not to miss an inch of the hard rectangle inside…

He had just enough time to strip out of his uniform in the men’s room and stuff it and the clipboard into the garbage before the real messenger finally got free of Mozzie’s distraction and came up the stairs. “Hey! ‘Bout time you got here,” Neal snapped at him, acting the part of an irritated civil servant. “I almost had to deliver this thing myself.” He slapped the envelope into the messenger’s broad barrel chest. “Make sure Agent Fowler receives this personally.”

“I will,” the messenger assured him apologetically. “Just sign right here, please.” Neal took the clipboard and forged a perfect copy of Judge Clark’s clerk’s signature. “I’m sorry for the delay,” the man apologized again. When Neal handed the clipboard back to him, the messenger turned and headed down the stairs without another word.

Neal watched him go, catching sight of Moz on the steps of the courthouse through one of the tall windows. In a signal they’d perfected over years of coordinated cons, Moz turned nonchalantly and stared up at Neal before turning away again.

Trouble on the move. Neal’s eyes caught Judge Clark coming through the door half a second later and he moved as calmly as he could to hide behind one of the pillars in the hall, ducking around it to stay out of her line of sight.

If his phone hadn’t been on vibrate… He snatched it up as soon as he was sure Clark wouldn’t notice his voice as he answered. “Peter.”

_“I spoke with Herrera. He thinks the judge keeps the cash evidence in her chambers.”_

_Luck just keeps on coming today… which means something bad is going to happen before this is all over…_ “You know where, exactly?”

_“Not yet; meet me in the office.”_

Neal glanced up the hall towards the judge’s chambers. He couldn’t just walk back in there while the clerk was there, but the opportunity to push the judge into a misstep was impossible to ignore. “On my way,” he assured Peter, then hung up the phone and waited.

The clerk left to run some kind of errand while the judge was in court. The chambers were locked. Neal carefully rifled through the pens in the cup on the desk outside, finding the type he needed, and selected a paperclip from the dish. It didn’t take long to strip the pen down, unbend the paperclip, and pick the lock on the private chambers’ door. Once inside, Neal knew he didn’t have time enough to actually find the evidence. He could only hope to flush the judge out.

Ransacking the office without taking anything was actually kind of fun; even a little therapeutic, considering what she was putting the Sullivans’ through, had put eight other families through, was helping Fowler put he and Kate and Peter and Elizabeth through… relocking the door, he sent a text to Moz telling him where to set up and stole behind his pillar again, watching for the right moment…

The judge left her courtroom, waylaid by people in the hall. Neal disappeared down the stairs and out to the table where Moz sat. “Court’s adjourned,” Neal told him. “Clark should be back any minute now.”

“Did you find anything in her chambers?” Moz asked calmly.

“No, but I made it look like someone tried to. We good to go?” Moz nodded and set up his listening equipment as Neal took out his binoculars. Sure enough, Judge Clark beat her clerk to her chambers only by a minute or two, and both women were obviously shaken up by the state of the room.

“She doesn’t seem happy,” Moz commented.

“What are they saying?” Neal asked. Moz repeated back the conversation; Neal was impressed that he only had to push Moz to focus twice. His oldest friend was sometimes a little too easily distracted. Of course he’d have loved to crack the safe, but there simply hadn’t been time and it wouldn’t have been legal besides. He needed Peter to catch her without any question as to the integrity of the evidence.

The fact that she was moving the money to a deposit box at Certified National Bank at noon Thursday was exactly the sort of information Peter would need. And Neal could tell him as soon as Peter’s meeting about the now-blank tape was over.

* * *

Timing is everything, and Neal couldn’t fault his own. He got into the Bureau offices just in time to see Fowler leaving Hughes’ office in utter disgust, his sycophant still trailing at his heels, and Peter slowly standing and following. Neal just grinned at Fowler as the man approached him, daring Fowler to say anything. Fowler just barreled past him after a short, silent disgusted pause. Neal turned to let him pass and then back to face the approaching Peter, desperately squelching the need to fling his arms around the strong column of Peter’s neck and kiss those talented lips in exuberant victory.

“I don’t suppose you had anything to do with Fowler’s blank tape?” Peter asked mildly.

 _ **YES!** It worked, it worked! Luck was actually on our side for this one; he’s safe. He’s safe. Peter’s safe._ “Blank tape?” Neal asked, pasting on his most see-through innocence, his eyes dancing with irrepressible joy.

 _Jones coming in last night… calling the team… everybody up all night… no sleep and all coffee, just because I was in trouble… and Neal working his own angle in the meantime, this time to help me instead of Kate…_ Peter felt the warmth that had welled in his chest when his team had come to his aid blossom there again, and it was all he could do not to kiss Neal right where they stood. His lips curved up in an appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Neal teased. He then dropped the act. “Oh…but you should thank your wife.”

Peter’s smile widened as they headed into his office. He would definitely thank Neal and Elizabeth more appropriately later. “Okay… that bought us some more time. We need to make sure the money is in the judge’s chamber.”

Neal hesitated. The blanking of the tape was an exception; Peter usually got upset when Neal did things on his own. “It is.”

 _I should have known… he was probably at the courthouse when I told him what Herrera told me. If he doesn’t quit taking risks like that, I’m going to throttle him._ “And if they’re going to move it.”

“She will,” Neal confirmed. “Tomorrow at noon. I even got the name of the bank where she’s dumping it; we can take her down there.” A frisson of excitement ran through Neal at the thought. _I love this part… the anticipation, knowing that your mark is yours for the taking and it’s only a matter of time… I wonder if Peter gets the same thrill when he’s closing on a suspect… other than me, of course… I know what he feels when he’s closing in on me…_

“Your information on the judge and the money wasn’t obtained legally, was it?” Peter really didn’t think he needed to ask the question, but he wanted to hear Neal confirm it… wanted Neal to tell him the truth… when Neal shook his head, Peter was glad that Neal was at least admitting it, even if it wasn’t good for the case. “We need probable cause for search and seizure on whatever’s on her person.”

Neal had read the fourth amendment search and seizure rules that Peter had given him; knew them by heart; but the very idea that Clark would be protected by them when they were this close galled him. “You’re telling me you can’t arrest her with a briefcase full of money?”

“That’s right; I can’t.” Peter’s gaze dropped to his desk as he searched for an answer… there had to be some way to expose Clark before the money was in the deposit box and untraceable…

Fowler’s signature stared back up at him from a surveillance request the agent had filed in another case. Peter had been reviewing as much of Fowler’s case work as he could get his hands on since he and Neal had concluded that Fowler was ‘The Man With the Ring’, trying to find ammunition.

_“…turn the signature upside down, and it becomes nothing more than a drawing. All you have to do is copy the lines…”_

Peter smiled at Neal, turning the file towards him. “Maybe someone else can.”

Neal followed Peter’s gaze, and surprise raced through him for the thousandth time. _Peter’s not actually suggesting… he isn’t going to ask me to forge Fowler’s signature… I will, absolutely I will without hesitation… but Peter’s going to use underhanded tactics? Peter?_ “How do we let Fowler know the judge is moving the money?” Neal asked, a strange sort of pride welling up inside him that Peter would actually go this far to take down Fowler’s pet judge… to knock one of Fowler’s legs out from under him…

“He’s tapping my phone,” Peter replied, his grin widening as his voice dropped. “The one he knows about, anyway.”

The answering grin that tugged Neal’s lips was wolfish. “I told you the untraceable cell would come in handy.”

“Yeah.” Glancing at the time, Peter weighed his options. “Hughes knows the team was here all night; told me and the others to take the morning… get some rest… come back this afternoon.”

Neal’s eyes went wide, and then he shivered in anticipation. “I could do with some time in bed myself.”

Embers flared in those russet eyes, pinning Neal to the spot and making him wish the walls of the office weren’t transparent. “I’ll take you home, then.”

* * *

June was out with… someone. Neal honestly couldn’t focus on anything but Peter long enough to remember. Moz was either sleeping at his storage unit or gathering more intel on the amber music box. Neal’s nerves were taut as trip wires as he led Peter into his suite.

It had been an emotional, stressful, frightening few days. The weekend they’d just spent cocooned in lust and comfort seemed like it had been years ago. Peter closed and locked the door as Neal tossed his coat over a chair, and then Peter was behind him, those strong hands drawing him back and sliding up his body with practiced familiarity, and Neal’s head was falling back as a moan of need broke past his lips.

“I’ve missed you,” Peter murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Neal’s ear. “It’s been one Helluva week.”

“And it isn’t even over yet.” Neal’s voice shook as his hands slid down Peter’s forearms and came to rest on his wrists, anchoring to those powerful hands… hands that would always protect him… Peter had needed his protection this time, but it was Neal who still felt unsafe… vulnerable…

Peter could sense it. He broke Neal’s grip and lifted him into his arms as easily as he might Elizabeth, carrying Neal into the bedroom, cradling him… sheltering him…

Warm, gentle hands stripped away Neal’s clothes slowly… soft lips whispering over the flesh the hands bared… Neal whimpered, thrashing, aching… he’d expected a long, hard fuck that would remind him of Peter’s possession for at least half a day… not worshipful, lingering caresses… not kisses light as butterfly wings…

Those fingers never touched his erection. Nor did that warm, seductive mouth. They didn’t need to. Every nerve in Neal’s body seemed to tie into his throbbing, insistent arousal, and hot surges sizzled directly to that central point at Peter’s lightest touch until Neal was begging… pleading… Peter’s name aching on his lips and in his heart… his fingers flexed insistently, digging into any part of Peter they could reach… “Peter… Peter, screw the lube… I need you…”

“No.” Final. Implacable. Peter’s warmth retreated as he obtained what he needed, and then returned as he curled Neal into his arms for a searing kiss. “I will never do that to you, Neal.”

“Peter…” Neal wrapped his legs around Peter’s flanks and arched in desperate invitation. “Please, I don’t care… I just…”

“I do.” Those careful hands pressed Neal’s thighs apart, and then Peter’s lips were brushing the center line of Neal’s chest while lube was generously applied to fingers that found Neal’s entrance almost on instinct. Neal’s hips bucked as he cried out, and Peter dipped his tongue into Neal’s navel. “I’ll always take care of you, Neal…”

Neal ran out of words. Ran out of thoughts. His mind dissolved and his legs wrapped around Peter’s shoulders and he let go… he let Peter take care of him… let Peter take them where they both wanted to go…

Slow, deep… Peter entered Neal so tenderly that Neal was overcome… tears leaked from his eyes as Peter filled him, kissed him, kept him close and safe and surrounded and exactly where Neal had wanted to be for days…

Rocking… unhurried… Peter’s dark velvet voice in his ear, whispering to him… calling him sweetheart… the bunch and glide of powerful muscles as Peter gave Neal what he needed… taking what Neal offered… urging Neal further and following him every step… higher and higher until there was nothing left but the fall…

Peter’s mouth swallowed Neal’s cry, his hands finding Neal’s and clasping tight as release took them both… reassuring Neal that Peter would always be there to catch him when he fell.

Exhaustion crept over both of them. Peter’s hands released Neal’s as he rolled away, wrapping his arms around Neal and bringing him close. Neal knew they should clean up. Peter knew they couldn’t nap all day. Neither managed to voice these priorities as warmth and comfort wrapped around them, and Neal fell asleep to the soothing drum of Peter’s heart.

* * *

It was the ringing of Neal’s cell phone that woke them half an hour later. Neal came fully awake faster than Peter, sliding out of bed and fetching the cell from his blazer’s pocket. It was one of Mozzie’s numbers. “Yeah?”

_“Did it work?”_

“Yeah, it worked.” Neal smiled at Peter as the older man came fully awake, gesturing for him to be silent. “Fowler looked like he’d just stepped in something when he left.”

_“So what now?”_

“Now Peter and I finish things with the judge and you see if you can get any more intel on the box. We’ll go over everything tonight.”

_“What about Mrs. Suit and the bug problem?_

Neal glanced back at Peter before answering. “First thing tomorrow. Everybody’s had a long night and a longer morning.”

_“I’ll say. Okay; see you tonight, then.”_

Hanging up as Peter swung around to sit on the edge of the bed, Neal brushed a hand through Peter’s short brown hair. “That’s okay, isn’t it? I figure… Moz won’t have time to get much done before you’d be going home anyway… and Jones was up with you all night…”

“Yeah.” Peter captured that hand and turned to kiss the palm. Neal gasped softly, and Peter folded Neal’s fingers closed. “You keep that for later. We’d better shower and get back to the office. What time is it?”

“Too late for a quick one in the shower,” Neal told him, “but not so late that going to the office would be useless.”

Standing up into Neal’s arms, Peter’s eyebrows lifted in obvious amusement. “You sure about the shower?”

Passionate promises dripped from every word. Neal had to fight down the urge to swoon. “Based on past experience? Yes.”

Peter laughed and scooped Neal into his arms again. “You’re always underestimating me, Neal Caffrey. One of these days, I’m going to convince you to stop doing that.”


	5. Bad Judgment Redux – Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

By the time Peter got home to his wife Wednesday night, everything that possibly could be prepared for the sting the following day had been. He’d already alerted the Marshalls that Neal would be coming to his home for an early morning meeting before they went to the office; it had taken all of Neal’s persuasion to convince Peter not to simply bring Neal back to Brooklyn with him tonight.

Elizabeth was reclined on the couch in one of his tee shirts and a pair of pajama shorts, watching television. Her lips were chewed bright pink from anxiety, even though he’d called her three times during the day to assure her that everything was fine. Noticing his arrival the minute the door closed, she snapped off the television and sat up. Her dark hair fell in a silken curtain past her shoulder, and her eyes were bright as a summer sky. “Well?”

After a moment of struggling to find words, russet eyes raking over the still luscious curves of her body, Peter gave up on a verbal answer, yanked his wife up off the couch into his arms, and slashed his mouth across hers with unmistakable intent.

Elizabeth ignited, melted; her hands twined in his hair and her legs lifted around his waist as soon as his hands shoved her shorts and panties to her ankles. Peter almost careened with her into the dining table, her bare backside dropping onto the wood as they both began fighting with Peter’s clothes. She wanted him naked in her arms. She wanted him here and whole and no longer in danger.

She wanted a lot of things, but needs came first.

Not even bothering to step free of his clothes, the moment Peter was naked enough he was buried to the hilt inside his wife. Elizabeth’s head dropped back with a long, uninhibited moan, her fingernails scratching long red marks into his shoulders as he braced her hips with his hands and drove deep. Ten years hadn’t dulled the passion between them… and letting Peter have Neal Caffrey as a lover seemed sometimes to enhance it…

Letting Peter set the tone, Elizabeth yielded… she loved to claim Peter, dropping him onto his back and slipping astride him to ride at her pleasure… but Peter claiming her was just as thrilling… primal and powerful… control she allowed him to take all too willingly…

He was riding her hard, and the emotional tumult of the last few days wouldn’t let her prolong it. Elizabeth climaxed with a high keen, pulling herself up to catch Peter’s lips in an open, artless kiss as her body clutched his… Peter flooded into her, groaning Elizabeth's name against her lips, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her closer, as if he wanted to absorb her into his body completely.

Breath slowed. Pheromones receded. Peter opened his eyes to stare down at his wife in something akin to awe. “Even after all these years,” he murmured, lifting his right hand to run his thumb over her lower lip. “You can still manage to surprise me.”

A smile, nearly as impish as Neal’s, curved Elizabeth's silken lips. “At least I don’t have to hold up poster-board signs anymore.”

Peter laughed as he finally kicked the clothes tangled at his feet away. “No… no, you don’t.” Lifting Elizabeth from the table, keeping her wrapped around his waist, Peter found his way to their makeshift campsite and laid her down on the blankets. “Can dinner wait a while? I haven’t finished thanking you for calling in my reinforcements.”

Warmth curled in Elizabeth’s belly as Peter’s hands began removing her tee shirt and bra. “It’s leftover night… we can eat whenever we’re hungry… for food.” Peter’s lips seared down her neck, lingered at her collarbone... floated over the swell of her breast to capture her nipple and draw hard. Elizabeth gasped.

“Good.”

* * *

When Neal and Mozzie arrived the next morning, the Burke home was as immaculate as it ever appeared. Only the secret smile Elizabeth shared with Neal gave any indication that the mild, serene atmosphere that the Burke house always exuded had not been present the night before. _Good. Elizabeth deserves Peter’s passion. I’m not sure how she decided I did, too, but she definitely does._

Mozzie set to work upstairs; without thinking, Peter went with him to supervise the search of the bedroom until Jones could arrive. Sitting on the couch with Elizabeth, Neal gave her an almost shy smile. “So how was your night?”

“Probably about as good as your midday.” Elizabeth smiled back at him, taking his hand in hers. “Thank you; whatever you did saved Peter’s job.”

Neal hesitated a moment. He knew Peter didn’t want Elizabeth involved; but this fight was going to get dirtier and deadlier before it was over. She deserved to know that… to try and be ready for it before it came… “Fowler’s won’t stop here, El… he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

“I know.” Elizabeth took a short, calming breath and squeezed Neal’s hand. “Men like him never do, Neal. You just have to know that Peter won’t always ask for help when he needs it; he protects the people he loves at any cost. You can be with him when I can’t, Neal. You can help me take care of him.”

“Is that why?” Neal asked, pressing his luck. “Is that what you get out of this?”

“No, Neal.” Elizabeth’s bright eyes hardened at the edges. “I told you: you earn my trust and I’ll tell you my ‘why’. Yesterday morning went a long way, but we’re not there yet.” Neal nodded in defeat, and Elizabeth’s expression relaxed. “Help me fix breakfast; you and Moz must be starving.”

* * *

Jones arrived. Neal and Peter made the call they needed to make from the patio, giving Fowler just enough rope to hang Judge Clark, and then drove into Manhattan for the drop at the bank.

At Peter’s insistence, Neal stayed in the car while Peter and his team confronted Fowler and Clark at the bank. Hughes, surprisingly, had come along. Neal was sure that Hughes suspected Fowler of working with Judge Clark and framing Peter; Hughes was a far sharper agent than Neal had originally assessed. But Fowler turned on Clark, as nearly everyone had expected, and Hughes could only play along with the façade.

Neal was on Peter’s flank every step of the way once everyone reconvened at the office. Fowler was at a dangerous point now: his pocket judge about to go to prison and his attempts to take Peter down thwarted entirely. If Fowler upped the ante… if he was actually angry enough to confront Peter about Kate and the music box…

_I won’t let him hurt Peter. Elizabeth is counting on me to protect him when she can’t._

It was almost disappointing that Fowler didn’t betray himself, even when Peter baited him after Clark’s interrogation. Neal almost wanted him to, wanted an excuse to challenge him directly. Fowler didn’t give him the satisfaction. He simply walked away, far too close to Peter for Neal’s liking. “I really hate him,” Neal murmured.

“I know,” Peter agreed. “But it’s over, and Price is on with the Sullivans’ mortgage bank right now.” He smiled at Neal. “By the way… whatever happened to that 5-1-5 form Allison Sullivan drew on during the meeting Monday?”

Neal feigned innocence. “I’m not sure… it’s probably in with the rest of the paperwork. It’s a big file, after all.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. He was pretty sure Neal had taken it with him at some point, but he’d have plenty of opportunities to search Neal’s suite at June’s for it. “Let’s go tell David Sullivan the good news,” he suggested instead. “I think he deserves to hear this in person.”

* * *

The meeting with Sullivan was easy and hard at the same time. Peter felt more at ease around the little girl than before, but he kept finding himself watching Neal as Neal smiled fondly at her. There were times when Neal Caffrey’s thoughts were totally unreadable, and Peter hoped he wasn’t seeing what he thought he saw in Neal’s wistful expression. _Kate and Neal are both beautiful… they’ve got loaded genetic dice and would probably have beautiful children… if Kate weren’t so wrong for Neal… if she even loved him a little…_

_No. Neal deserves someone who will love him more than a little. He deserves more than life from one scheme to the next. And Kate doesn’t love him._

Jones sent Peter a message, letting him know that Moz finished things up early and the house was all clear. He drove directly there with Neal, wanting confirmation from Moz himself that no other listening devices had been planted.

“How did everything go?” Jones asked when Neal and Peter arrived. Moz was packing up his equipment in the living area and Jones was waiting for their arrival, coat already donned.

“We arrested Clark for mortgage fraud; the Sullivans get to keep the house, and Fowler’s headed back to D.C.,” Neal informed him with no little satisfaction.

“A clean sweep for everyone, then.” Elizabeth beamed in relief.

“So the rest of the house is clear?” Peter asked.

“Yes, but your wiring belongs in a museum.” Moz took a piece of equipment that Neal was fiddling with and put it in his case. “You’re living in a firetrap. The future is in copper wiring. I know a guy-”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Peter cut in as Moz turned. The little man deflated just a bit, and Peter’s expression softened. Felon or not, strange or not, this man had ensured that Fowler didn’t have any little surprises hidden away in their home, and Peter was sure it wasn’t the last time he would owe Moz a favor. “Thank you.”

Moz actually seemed to blush faintly; Neal smiled at Peter from where he leaned against the built-in bookcase. He’d never really intended for Peter and Moz to meet, but now that they had, he wanted there to at least be a kind of peace between them.

Elizabeth stood from where she half-sat on the table before anyone could say anything else. “Moz, I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, thanks, El!” Moz grabbed his case and followed her. Jones followed them, needing to get back to the office.

Peter looked after them, chagrin registering on his features. _Yes, I’m grateful to the guy, but…_ “El…? Moz…?”

“He trusts her,” Neal observed, coming to stand beside Peter as the trio exited the house. “Guess they were okay here.”

 _Great. My wife is trusted by a felon who’s almost a worse temptation for Neal than Kate… at least when it comes to life as a con._ “Mixed victory,” Peter murmured.

“Lot of those lately,” Neal concurred softly. He’d won Peter’s trust at the cost of his own heart; knew The Man With the Ring’s identity and his agenda at the cost of his surety in Kate’s affections. And now Moz and Elizabeth trusting one another: a side benefit to the case that had seen the downfall of Fowler’s pocket judge, but not Fowler himself.

Peter looked at him in surprise. Neal was usually a glass-half-full kind of guy. “You should be happy: caught a dirty judge, got rid of Fowler.”

“He won’t stay away as long as I have the music box,” Neal replied bitterly.

“As long as he _thinks_ you have it,” Peter corrected.

Neal turned to look at Peter, who met his gaze with mild expectation in those russet eyes. It was hard to remember sometimes that he had trusted Peter with the truth, that Peter wasn’t easily fooled even when he didn’t know. It had been an automatic choice of phrase, and Neal didn’t like that Peter’s measured gaze almost compelled him to retract the lie even when Peter already knew the truth. Lying and half-truths were part of the game, second nature. Peter _knew_ that. “Okay,” Neal conceded. “I don’t have it.”

“Oh! Look at that: telling the truth.” Peter couldn’t help the sarcasm in his voice. _If Neal lies to me even when he knows I know the truth, how can I really believe anything he tells me?_ “Did it hurt?”

“Little bit,” Neal snapped back. Peevish and spiteful though it was, he couldn’t resist pushing back. “Your turn: you hear back from Kate?”

The sardonic smile dropped from Peter’s lips, his expression growing solemn. _I wondered how long he was going to wait before he asked…_ “I did,” he replied slowly. “Just two words: ‘See Robert’.” Seeing the blind hurt creep into Neal’s eyes, Peter felt his heart skip. “It make any sense?”

Neal took a deep, steadying sigh, trying to hold back tears. He didn’t want her response to mean what it could mean… “Yeah… Robert’s her father.”

“Wanna talk to him?” Peter offered, hoping that it wasn’t a veiled attempt by Kate to arrange a meeting for her and Neal.

“Won’t be easy. He’s dead.” Neal took another steadying breath. “He’s buried here in the city. I used to go with Kate to visit his grave before you arrested me. She’d always take fresh cut flowers, whatever we could afford… even in winter.”

Elizabeth came back in to see Neal upset and Peter hovering, in the act of placing a comforting hand at the small of Neal’s back. “Neal? Are you okay?”

Smiling weakly, he nodded. “I’ll be okay, El.”

Peter gazed at Neal for a moment longer, and then nodded his own agreement. “We should get lunch, and then Neal and I have a meeting.” When Neal looked at him in surprise, Peter only smiled in acknowledgement and kissed him, quick and sweet. “A very important meeting.”

_One that could tear down everything I’m trying to build, unless Kate decides to be cooperative for once._

* * *

“Kind’ve macabre for a meeting place,” Peter commented, following Neal as they made their way through the paths between the gravestones. He couldn’t see Kate anywhere, scanning for both she and her father’s marker.

“Sends a certain message,” Neal agreed. He couldn’t look at Peter, concentrating on finding Robert’s grave… it had been over four years, but this part of the cemetery looked familiar…

“Yeah.” Moz stepped out from behind a marker as tall as he was, reluctant to surprise Neal like this but agreeing with Peter that it was necessary. “ ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here’.”

Neal stared at Moz, not understanding why he was here, and then turned to Peter, his eyes silently demanding an explanation. “I called him,” Peter admitted.

“Consider this your Kate intervention,” Moz advised Neal gently. “It’s time to think about giving up the chase.”

Blue eyes flaring, Neal couldn’t believe the audacity… both of them, teaming up against him… bad enough that Elizabeth had pointed out that Peter and Kate would force him to choose between them… but now Peter was recruiting Moz to try and make Neal choose before they’d even dealt with the threat hanging over Kate’s head? A threat that wouldn’t even be there if Neal hadn’t let people assume he had that damned music box?

“No thanks,” he said icily, his eyes searching the stones again rather than look at either of them. Finally, he caught sight of the plot they were looking for. “There it is.” Hastening to the stone, he knelt before it, looking for any sign of Kate’s presence beyond the bouquet. A mark, a symbol on the stone… something… “Robert Moreau,” Neal murmured. _Why did she leave the message for me with you, Robert? Or are you the message? What is she trying to tell me?_

“Kate’s father.” Peter wondered about the meaning of the setting, trying to remember everything he’d learned about Kate’s background while he’d hunted Neal. “Flowers are a few days old,” he noted as Neal picked them up. “She’s been here.”

Thinking neither of his ‘Kate-erventionists’ would see the motion, Neal removed something from among the half-wilted blossoms that caught his eye: a single origami lily, folded out of yellow paper.

_Origami flowers have no thorns, symbolizing a relationship based on trust. A single blossom means that the recipient is special, especially if the single blossom is unique in a larger bouquet. Yellow represents freedom… a spur to creativity, given at the start of a new project or the completion of a successful one…_

Are you asking me to trust you, Kate? Saying that if I trust you, we’ll both have our freedom? Freedom from each other, to start new lives apart? Or freedom to finish the dream, and escape to some balmy hideaway for the wealthy where we can have everything we never did here?

Answers without answers… plots within plots… plans within plans… there’s only one person I trust completely, Kate, and I’m wearing his ring against my heart.

“Anything?” Peter asked, suddenly reminding Neal that he wasn’t alone.

“No.” It didn’t feel like a lie to Neal. The flower really wasn’t anything… anything concrete, anyway. The flower was tucked up his sleeve the instant he’d removed it, out of sight of the prying eyes behind him. “Maybe you guys were right: abandon all hope.”

Peter said nothing more, turning and walking back to the car. Moz lingered for a moment longer. “Does that flower mean what I think it means?” he asked, his tone dark and quiet as he stepped closer.

“Yeah, I think it does,” Neal replied. “She’s asking me to trust her.”

Moz nodded. He’d thought as much. “Do you?”

Putting the rest of the bouquet back on the ground at the base of the headstone, Neal stood and faced him, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I trust her… until I can’t.”

There was no quaver in Neal’s voice; no hesitation. Moz accepted it this time, turning and walking back the way he’d come. Neal went to join Peter in the car; Peter had promised to take him back to June’s after they’d found whatever Kate had left for him here.

The ride back into Manhattan was another silent one. Neal was lost in his head, turning the meanings of the lily and the color over in his mind again and again, searching his memory for any other scraps of information that would help him interpret the potential messages correctly. Peter was trying not to lose his composure.

Like Moz, Peter had seen the little origami flower Neal had removed from the half-dead bouquet. Unlike Moz, however, Peter didn’t want to confront Neal about it, to make him remove the bloom from his sleeve and tell him what it meant. Peter suddenly found that he didn’t want or care to know. He knew it would do no good to call Neal on his lie. He did that so much already that he was beginning to feel like a broken record.

He should have known. He should have known Kate wouldn’t leave Neal be. Should have known Neal was too lovesick to let go. Kate was still stringing Neal along. Neal was going to let her. And in the end, Neal would leave him for Kate, run off into a life of crime again… throw his life away along with any chance that they could have made their somewhat unusual relationship into something more.

Kate Moreau wouldn’t give Neal Caffrey up unless one of them was in prison or dead. Even if she did, she would still be a spectre in the shadows, a succubus waiting for her moment to strike. Peter needed to wrap his head around that concept, before he lost too much of his heart to the quicksilver creature beside him.

When they reached 87 Riverside Drive, Neal moved to get out of the car. Peter’s right hand clamped onto Neal’s left wrist, preventing his exit. Neal turned to stare at Peter with rounded eyes. “You’re not giving up,” Peter said softly.

“Peter?”

“I know you’re not going to stop.” Peter wouldn’t… couldn’t look at him. “You love Kate, and you think she loves you. I can’t convince you she doesn’t, and you’ve made it obvious that you won’t listen to anyone. I get it. Don’t like it, but I get it.

“I know she passed you something in the flowers,” Peter continued, still staring at anything but the beautiful con in the next seat. He could see Neal’s eyes widen at the revelation in his peripheral vision, but what he needed to say right now wouldn’t pass the lump in his throat unless he wasn’t looking at Neal. “I don’t know what it means. I don’t want you to tell me why you lied to me back there. I don’t care right now. But I’m done being lied to by you. You either trust me or you don’t.”

“Peter… I-”

“I need time, Neal.”

Neal’s eyes went wider. Sudden panic filled him. “Peter, wait…”

“You want me to watch you chase Kate when you’re not in bed with me? Watch you risk your life for something that isn’t there?” Peter released Neal’s wrist, his words like bitter ashes in his mouth. Neal Caffrey was in love with Kate Moreau, but it didn’t stop Peter Burke from wanting what he obviously couldn’t have. “I’m not calling this off… I just… I need some time.”

Neal felt like he was going to hyperventilate. He couldn’t choose… not now… he’d just wanted to be sure Peter could contact her… that there was a way to find her if it became necessary… he wasn’t ready… and he loved Peter… he loved Peter; what was he doing?

“Get out of the car, Neal.” Peter’s voice was flat. Tired.

“Peter, I’m sorry; I just need you to under-”

“I understand better than you think, Neal.” Peter turned to look at Neal, just once. Those glorious blue eyes were stricken; features fit for Grecian sculpture, pale as marble. Unable to stop, Peter leaned across the seat and pressed a gentle kiss to those parted mauve lips. Neal gasped into his mouth, kissing him back, hands reaching up to anchor Peter to him. But Peter’s hands found his wrists, captured them and held Neal’s hands away, and Peter ended the kiss long before he wanted to.

“Get some rest, Neal.” Peter’s tone was gentle, but carried no hint of reconsideration. “I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”

Stunned, uncertain of what this could mean for them, Neal hesitated for a moment before obeying. His mouth opened to start again, to try and explain or apologize. Peter turned away, staring out the driver’s side window at the traffic on the street. Finally, numbly, Neal opened the door and climbed out of the Ford.

When the door was closed and Neal was clear, Peter pulled out into traffic and drove back to Brooklyn. He would tell himself later that he didn’t look even once into the rearview mirror to see the forlorn, isolated figure of Neal Caffrey in his pea coat and turtleneck, standing on the sidewalk and watching the Ford disappear into the city. He would deny even to himself that there were tears in his eyes when he could no longer see Neal’s reflection, or that his heart already felt half-broken in his chest.

Peter needed time to adjust to the idea that he was going to lose Neal eventually… to Kate or prison or a less scrupulous felon’s gun. He needed time to deal with the fact that the loss was likely to be almost more than he could bear.

Neal Caffrey had stolen part of Peter Burke’s heart, and when Neal was gone, that part of Peter’s heart would go with him.


End file.
